Rebirth and Awakenings
by Juliebmr
Summary: COMPLETE, 12 Chapters. How Scott Summers got to the Xavier Institute -- and what he found there.
1. Default Chapter

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Standard disclaimer: I don't own them; I'm just borrowing them for our entertainment.

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 1

"Charles, good to see you. How was your flight?" Agent Fred Duncan met his guests in the FBI Headquarters lobby and happily shook hands with the man in the wheelchair.

"The flight was very good," Professor Charles Xavier replied. "You remember Hank McCoy, one of my students." Hank McCoy looked like a linebacker (and in fact had had an impressive high school sports career) but Agent Duncan knew he also possessed a fine mind and, at the age of twenty five, had already racked up an MD and a PhD.

He ushered the two men up to his office and passed Professor Xavier a manila folder. "This is the kid I was telling you about. His name is Scott Summers and he'll be sixteen in a couple of months. Thankfully, he's been reasonably cooperative or I wouldn't have been able to put together this much." He let the other man skim the information for a few minutes. 

Much of it was biographical information -- Scott had been orphaned at ten and hospitalized for a year for head injuries after the plane crash that took the lives of his parents. There had been a younger brother who had been adopted and disappeared through adoption confidentiality laws. After his release from hospital, social services had tried their best, but because Scott was older and had "brain damage" stamped in his file, he was never placed for adoption. The first group home he went to seemed to be a decent place and he was there for the longest period of time. But his mutation was beginning to manifest and he was soon back in the hospital for chronic migraines, the cause of which no one could diagnose. The downward spiral of Scott's condition was painfully obvious. Duncan had tracked a succession of group homes, foster homes, hospitals, and with increasing frequency, psychiatric wards. There was nothing to cover where he had been for the past two years.

Xavier turned the page and winced at a horrific photograph of the boy's lower back. He looked inquiringly at Agent Duncan.

Duncan knew what photograph he was looking at. He had children himself and the thought sickened him. "He's been beaten, but he wouldn't give us any details. All he'd say was that it happened about two years ago, which would have made him fourteen at the time. I found reports of a suspicious explosion at a psychiatric institution in Omaha. Scott had been a patient there and disappeared at the same time as the blast. The place was investigated later for abuse; it probably happened there."

Xavier sighed. After everything he had seen, brutality against children could still shock him. "And he's been on the streets and on the run ever since?"

Duncan nodded. "Like I said, he's not too chatty about it, but he seems to have gone city to city until he got to Washington. I found two more explosions similar to the one at the psychiatric institution during that time. One in St. Louis and another in Pittsburgh. And there's one more thing you should know." He hesitated.

"Yes?"

"There is evidence he's been sexually abused. It's even possible he was pulled into the sex trade; it happens a lot with runaways. The first doctor who examined him had us call in a specialist in child abuse cases, who confirmed it."

"What did Scott say about it?"

"Nothing. He can shut his mouth tighter than a clam if he doesn't want to talk. Hell, I've seen mob leaders spill their guts more than this kid has." Duncan took a deep breath and continued. "On the plus side, he's in good health and he doesn't appear to be into drugs. I asked him if he was a user and he told me he wasn't completely stupid." Duncan grinned in spite of himself. "I'm not exactly handing you a boy scout, Charles."

"I'm not exactly expecting one," Professor Xavier remarked. "How has he survived?"

"My guess would be from what little he *has* said, he'd stay in runaway shelters when he could, and hustled pool and resorted to petty theft when he couldn't. I know he's a talented little pickpocket. The second night he was here he stole my cell phone and called an auto garage in South-East, of all places. That was the only call he made and he was pretty slick getting the phone back in my pocket the next day. We traced the call and went to see the owner, a Mr. Ernest Reynolds, but he denies knowing Scott. Which is probably why Scott called him. He may have wanted to warn him."

"Can you blame him?" This was from Hank, who had been sitting in horrified silence at the story.

"Not really," Duncan conceded. "However, we got to the neighbors before Mr. Reynolds did and they confirmed someone resembling Scott being there; a white kid in that part of town is noticeable. Apparently, he stayed in the garage for the first couple of weeks, which at least beats living on the streets, and ended up in a room above the hairdressers next door. As far as I can tell, they seem to have liked him." 

Professor Xavier continued perusing the file. They had measured the output from the boys eyes. Or tried to.

"Is this accurate?" he asked as he handed the paper over to Hank. He read it and whistled.

"It's as accurate as we could get before the equipment overheated. We took him to Aberdeen Proving Ground twice to make sure. Same results both times." 

"And this?" Professor Xavier held up the results of a cat scan.

"We tried to see if there was something in his brain that would give us an idea of how he does it," Duncan explained. "But the only thing we saw was that dark patch there. Dead tissue. Old dead tissue. The doctors think it was the original plane crash injury."

"What's he like?" Professor Xavier asked as he handed back the file.

Duncan grinned again. "He's a teenager; what else can I say. His favorite word is "no." He can be a bit of a smart aleck, too, when he's not scared."

Professor Xavier returned the grin. "Where is he?"

"I've got him stashed at Walter Reed in a closed ward."

"In a hospital?" Hank asked "Is that safe? If he can do this kind of damage ... ?"

"Very safe," Duncan replied. "He's not going to cause any trouble. The kid's terrified of hurting someone. He knows he's in a hospital and he knows people will be hurt if he uses his powers to try to leave. He also knows he's in danger himself out on the streets. Apart from that phone call, he's made no attempt to leave or contact anyone."

"How many people know about him?" asked Professor Xavier.

"Just me, my people who have been watching him, the doctors that have seen him, and my assistant director -- about half a dozen people in all. We pulled all the records from the local police station where he was first brought in after the building explosion -- who were *not* happy about it -- and kept everything on a need-to-know basis internally. If you take him, he's free and clear and our files get lost for good."

Professor Xavier smiled. "When can I see him?"

* * *

Scott Summers sat by the window of his hospital room, shaking. He had been at the hospital now for over a month and he still shook uncontrollably. At least he wasn't crying at night anymore. He had suffered through two humiliating medical examinations (although the doctors had tried to be kind) and had been "tested" several times. He was treated almost like a weapon and Scott hated that.

But days of anxiety had given way to days of tedium. He almost welcomed the idea of being taken out and "tested" again -- just to break up the monotony. Other than being bored, Scott had to admit he was being treated decently, overall. He was fed regularly, he had a warm bed (even if it was in a hospital), he was clean, he had clean clothes to wear that more or less fit, and no one was actively trying to hurt him. It was better than anything he had experienced in a long while, his stay at Mr. Reynolds garage being the only exception. And if he rarely had someone to talk to -- the agents who watched him didn't seem to like small talk and Scott wasn't any good at it either -- well, those were just the breaks.

But there was still this nagging worry of what they would do with him in the end. Scott had been told by the FBI agents that they had blamed the explosion of the building -- the building *he* blew up -- on a faulty gas line. He touched the bandage that kept his eyes shut to assure himself it was still there. He wouldn't do it again. He was *not* a weapon and no one could turn him into one.

The door behind him opened. Scott turned towards the sound, surprised. It wasn't lunch time yet and lately, that was the only reason anyone came to his room. To feed him. Like an animal. A lab rat.

"Scott?" It was Agent Duncan. "I have a visitor for you." He murmured to the other person before leaving them together. Scott heard no other sounds, no one else in the room breathing. They were alone.

"My name is Professor Charles Xavier, Scott," the other man began. He had a slight British accent and Scott realized the voice was at his level, sitting down. He heard the soft squeak of wheels. Was the guy in a wheelchair?

The man continued. "I run a school in New York. For gifted students. Like you."

"Don't you mean freaks?" Scott's voice was bitter.

"No," Professor Xavier corrected calmly. "I mean students."

"So?"

"I'd like you to come with me. You have a very powerful gift. I'd like to help you with that."

"Gift?" Scott spat out. "I *blew up* a building. A whole fucking building! People got hurt. It's no gift. It's a curse." He turned back to the window.

"Right now, I'm sure it seems that way. But it doesn't have to stay that way. You might be able to learn to control it."

"Really?" Scott voice sounded dull and unconvinced.

Professor Xavier nodded although the boy couldn't see him do it. "Yes. I won't promise anything, but it might be possible. In any event, there might be artificial means to control it."

"What's the catch?" Scott hadn't spent two years on his own without developing an intense sense of self preservation.

"Unless you consider living in New York a "catch", there isn't one."

"Right," Scott drawled. He was silent for a moment before continuing. "They'd never let me out of here."

"In fact, it was Agent Duncan who told me about you." The boy's look of disbelief was almost laughable. "He doesn't want anyone else to find out about you. He doesn't want you turned into a weapon. I don't think you want that either."

The boy was silent again. Professor Xavier didn't need his telepathic abilities to know he was coming to a decision.

"When do we leave?" Scott asked.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 2

Later that afternoon, Scott, Hank, and Professor Xavier were settled in a private plane, heading for New York. They took Scott out of the hospital by a convoluted route that kept them out of the main lobby. Agent Duncan met them at a side entrance and whisked them to a small private airport in Maryland.

As he was getting out of the car, Scott suddenly turned back. "Agent Duncan?"

"Yes."

"Thanks."

He smiled. "Don't make me regret it, kid. Goodbye, Charles, Hank." Then he was gone.

Scott was put into the plane first, then the Professor and Hank came on board. The plane had a lift and was obviously designed to accommodate the wheelchair. Scott buckled himself in and grabbed the armrest as they took off. He hadn't been on a plane since -- 'no, don't think of that,' he told himself firmly. 'Don't think of that, ever.'

After a half an hour of uneventful flying, Scott found his voice. 

"You say it's a school. How many students are there?" he asked.

"Right now, not many," Professor Xavier replied. "There is yourself, Ororo Munroe, who's a year older than you, Warren Worthington, who is graduating from high school this year and will be staying the summer before he goes to college in the fall. Then there's Jean Grey, who's in medical school and spends her free weekends at the Institute, and Hank here who is doing advanced studies with me during the summer as part of his hospital residency program."

"So there's not a lot of us?"

"Not right now, no."

Scott sniffed at that, but said no more. The rest of the flight was silent.

* * *

The drive from the airport to the mansion also was silent. Xavier felt Scott was on the verge of saying something once or twice, but then decided better of it. The silence might have been laughable, if it hadn't also been so very sad.

Finally, they reached the mansion. Hank got the Professor comfortably settled in his wheelchair before getting Scott out of the car. Scott carried the small backpack that contained everything he owned and placed his fingertips on the arm of the wheelchair to help guide him.

They entered a building, Scott noticed. It smelled of polish and flowers. He heard footsteps coming towards them.

"Professor! Hank! You're finally back. Mrs. Hanscomb has dinner ready. You must be Scott," she added, taking his hand. "I'm Jean Grey."

She had a lovely voice. "Hi," he stammered.

"We had the downstairs sitting room made up with a bed, as you requested," Jean turned her attention back to the Professor and then back to Scott. "We thought it would be better if you didn't have to deal with stairs immediately."

"Thanks," he said. They were thoughtful here, anyway.

"Hank," the Professor said. "Why don't you show Scott his room and explain the layout of the house. We'll be in the drawing room."

Jean listened as Hank explained the layout of the hall using a clockwork pattern. The younger boy nodded his head, seeming to understand the arrangement. They disappeared down the hall.

"He looks younger than I was expecting," Jean commented.

"Yes," Professor Xavier replied. "And if these reports from Agent Duncan are correct, he's far more powerful than I was anticipating."

* * *

Scott and Hank joined the others in the Drawing Room later. Professor Xavier noted the boy was alert, listening -- expecting danger. He realized this was the largest group of people Scott had been with in many months. There was no reason for him to be afraid. Xavier began with introductions.

"This is Scott Summers; he will be joining us at the Institute. He is a mutant, like ourselves. His gift appears to be energy conversion. Like the rest of you, he'll be learning to control his powers while he stays here. Jean Grey, is sitting by the window to your left; you met her in the hall. Across the room from you is Warren Worthington ..."

"Hello," Warren said in a bored voice.

"And on the couch next to your chair is Ororo Monroe. You'll be going to high school with her in September."

"Aurora?" he asked.

"O-ro-ro," she corrected in her soft Kenyan accent.

He repeated it again with only marginally better pronunciation.

"Close enough," Ororo sighed.

"What do you do?" Scott wanted to know.

"I can control weather." 

Scott thought that one over. "Neat," he said.

Silence descended on the room. Professor Xavier was never more grateful than when Mrs. Hanscomb announced dinner.

* * *

Jean took the responsibility of guiding Scott to the dining room. Hank noticed they seemed to have made an almost instantaneous connection. If nothing else, Scott seemed to trust her. He didn't flinch when she touched him, unlike with everyone else. 

Scott sat down and ran his fingers along the edge of the tablecloth and found the silverware. Two forks, a knife and two spoons. He forced himself upright. He could do this. He tried to remember everything that had ever been drummed or beaten into him about manners.

Thankfully, Jean was on his left. She placed the food on his plate and used the clockwork pattern to describe what was there and where it was.

The Professor sighed slightly when he saw the table. He and Mrs. Hanscomb were going to have to have a discussion regarding the definition of "simple," at least in regards to meals. Mrs. Hanscomb had never accustomed herself to the fact that Professor Xavier and his students no longer lived in an age of gracious living and regularly served meals in multiple courses. Warren, Jean, Hank, and Ororo had all gotten used to this aspect of living at the mansion. But Scott -- Scott had lived in institutions on and off for years and had probably never dealt with any kind of formal table setting since he was orphaned. The last thing the Professor wanted was to make the boy feel inferior.

But, so far, he was managing. In fact, Scott was feeling rather proud of himself. He hadn't made any major mistakes he was aware of and he was starting to relax. Which is when disaster struck. He overshot reaching for his water glass and knocked over a nearby jug, sending ice water everywhere.

He jumped up, but with his eyes blindfolded, he was unable to do anything. "I'm sorry," he blurted out. He was obviously expecting some kind of punishment. The boy's fear was tangible.

"It's okay, it's okay," Jean assured him. "Sit down, Scott, I've got it."

Scott sat down again, his face burning. He heard the squashy sounds of Jean sopping up the water with a napkin. He also heard a deep chuckle from further down the table. *Warren*, he thought darkly. But he was satisfied to hear the 'splat' of the wet napkin being thrown across the table and hitting its target. Jean seemed to have a good pitching arm.

But the accident also meant Scott withdrew again, into himself, where at least it was reasonably safe. He refused dessert, refused everything, and went back to the room they had given him. He undressed and got himself to bed. He didn't care that it was early. It had been a very long day.

* * *

Scott woke to the sound of birds singing outside his window. It was a sound he hadn't heard in a long time. At first, he was disoriented. This wasn't the hospital. Then he remembered the previous day. He wasn't in Washington anymore, he was in New York. He was in a big old house where he was fumbling around blind. At that thought, he checked to make sure the bandage was on his face before carefully getting out of bed.

The downstairs room he was in had its own bathroom and Scott did a credible job of washing and dressing himself before heading out to the rest of the house. He hesitated in the entrance hall, remembering what Hank had told him about the layout and the furniture placement. He got through the room and to the dining room without any problems at all.

Unknown to him, Hank watched Scott from the stair landing above. The boy had a sense of direction and space that was remarkable in Hank's mind.

Scott entered the dining room and realized from the sounds there was another occupant there as well. "Who's here?" he called out.

"It's only me," Professor Xavier answered calmly. "Enjoying my second cup of tea. Ororo and Warren are at school and Jean had to leave early this morning to return to Columbia. Hank went upstairs for a few moments."

"What time is it," he asked.

"Almost nine."

"Jeez." Scott couldn't remember when he had last slept that late. "I'm sorry, I'm late; I don't have a clock, and no one came to wake me ..."

"It's quite all right, Scott. Yesterday was a long and difficult day. If you would prefer to eat breakfast with the others, I can have someone wake you in time."

Given his experiences last night, he wasn't entirely sure that breakfasting by himself (the Professor didn't count) wouldn't be a bad idea. He was saved from discussing the matter further by the entrance of Hank.

"Good morning, Scott," Hank boomed cheerfully. "Are you ready for the tests."

"What tests?" Scott was immediately wary.

"We'll need to measure the strength of the optic blasts."

"They've been measured," Scott pointed out. "Twice."

"Yes, but we have equipment that isn't going to blow up." Hank sounded happily confident.

Scott was unconvinced. "If you say so."

* * *

After Scott had eaten, the three of them went down to the basement where a complete and modern laboratory was set up. Hank guided Scott to a chair and began to set up the equipment. When everything was ready, he cut the bandage off Scott's eyes.

"Now," he said. "Open your eyes."

Scott did nothing but clutch the arm rests of the chair convulsively.

Professor Xavier understood his fear. "Scott," he said calmly. "Both Hank and I are behind you. There is nothing in front of you but a blast wall. No one will get hurt, I promise you."

Scott opened his eyes. The Professor bit back a gasp. The blast was pure energy, a red beam of such force as to be unbelievable.

They heard a loud crack and Scott immediately shut his eyes and grabbed the armrests. 

"What happened?" he asked in a panic stricken voice.

Hank's voice was one of awe. "You cracked the blast wall."

"I believe we'll have to improvise the rest of the tests," the Professor said drily.

"Told you," Scott commented unrepentantly. 

* * *

They managed to continue testing Scott for the rest of the morning. The force that emanated from his eyes was frighteningly strong. Without doubt, unshielded, he could punch through a mountain.

Professor Xavier thought with gratitude of Fred Duncan and thankful that no one else had gotten hold of the boy. What he could do was truly alarming. Fortunately, Scott had no desire to cause destruction. But could he be taught to control this power? That would remain to be seen.

* * *

Over lunch, they discussed the findings. Or rather, the Professor and Hank discussed them. Scott merely ate his lunch and listened as they talked about him like he was an experiment. Which he didn't like at all.

"Quite honestly," Hank was saying. "The problem is fascinating. There have been some interesting studies on quartz crystals that might apply to this situation."

"Excuse me," Scott said tartly. "But I'm sitting right here. Don't talk about me like I don't exist; it's very rude."

Hank met Professor Xavier's eyes and bit back a laugh. Their previously silent teenager was finding his voice at long last.

"Last night you called me an 'energy converter,'" Scott said. "What does that mean?"

The Professor answered. "It means your body absorbs energy, in your case, we believe solar energy, and converts it into the blasts that come out of your eyes."

"Why my eyes?"

"We don't know," the Professor admitted.

"What is it that you think you can do for me?" Scott continued.

Professor Xavier looked at Hank before responding. "In order for you to learn how to control your gift, you have to have a safe way of practicing. Therein lays the difficulty. Your optic blasts are incredibly powerful, Scott. What we'd like to do, is find some kind of adaptive technology that can keep the beams under control, while you're learning to use them."

"What kind of adaptive technology?"

"Special eye wear might be the key," Hank chimed in now.

"Eye wear? You mean glasses?"

"Of a sort." Hank then launched into a lengthy and detailed discussion about the properties of certain quartz crystals and the affect some forms of energy had on them. He lost Scott after the first sentence.

"Okay," Scott replied, loathed to admit he hadn't understood a word. He paused for a moment and then asked, "What time does Jean come back?"

"She probably won't be back until the weekend," Hank offered. "She goes to medical school at Columbia and Salem Center is a long commute on a daily basis. She's here whenever she can get away."

"But Ororo and Warren will be back from school later this afternoon," Professor Xavier told him with a twinkle Scott couldn't see. It didn't escape his notice that Scott hadn't asked about them.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 3

The next three weeks passed slowly for Scott. He got to know more about his fellow students. Ororo was from Kenya and had lived several years in Egypt; she would be a senior next year and she liked gardening. Warren had wings and could fly -- which didn't impress Scott in the least. Jean was a telekine, and even the Professor was a telepath. Only Hank's mutation was not discussed in detail, other than it was "controlled." Odd, that. They seemed to be pretty open about everything else.

Scott had hoped that with the "manifestation of his gift" (Professor Xavier's words) his headaches would go away. But he had come down with two horrific migraines during this time. Once was during a weekend and Jean sat with him for several hours. Just knowing she was nearby made him feel better.

But more than anything else, Scott was phenomenally *bored*. It was as bad as being in the hospital. He had nothing to do. Hank and the Professor tested his "gift" every day, coming up with new measuring techniques to analyze the output of his eyes. But that was in the morning. In the afternoon, Hank and the Professor worked in the lab on the results, leaving Scott to his own devices. 

When he lived on the streets, Scott's haven had been libraries. He was good at making himself invisible to the staff and other patrons. No one noticed the boy who came in in the morning and didn't leave until closing. Libraries were heated in winter and cooled in the summer and had water fountains and bathrooms. And books. All the books he could ever want. So he read. He read everything he could. But now, with his eyes covered, that joy was closed to him. In desperation, Scott accepted Hank's suggestion that he learn braille and he also listened to books on tape that Professor Xavier used when traveling. The Professor tended to prefer the classics, but Scott didn't care. Listening to Shakespeare was at least something to do.

On the weekends, however, things were different. Ororo and Warren were there all day. They were active and lively and they always had something going on. But while he liked Ororo and tolerated Warren, Scott felt drawn to Jean. She came every weekend and always seemed to find a way for him to participate in whatever was happening, even though his eyes were still covered. He liked being with her.

And everyone else noticed. Including Warren.

* * *

Warren, especially, thought the whole situation was ridiculous; the kid obviously had a monumental crush on the lady. And he hadn't even seen Jean! Even though Warren had a few daydreams in that direction himself, he felt it was about time someone put the kid straight.

He found Scott sitting in the library, reading one of the braille books the Professor had purchased for him. Hank had mentioned how quickly Scott had learned Level I braille; Warren wasn't impressed.

Scott lifted his head when Warren entered the room and then lowered it again. "Hey, Warren," he said by way of greeting.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"By your footsteps."

It was that calm surety of the answer that got on Warren's nerves. The kid was so often right it was annoying.

"Were you waiting for *Jean*?" Warren sneered.

"Maybe."

"You're not fooling anyone, you know. Everyone knows you've got a crush on her. Even she knows."

"No, I don't," Scott answered.

"Oh, pu-leeze. You wait to hear her voice on the weekends. It might interest you to know that she doesn't come here to see you. She's got more important things to do. Don't kid yourself, Slim; she a twenty-three year old med student just being nice to some poor blind kid ..."

Scott felt a rage build and his hands became fists. He might have his eyes covered, but he still had a good sense of sound and direction. He jumped out of the chair and swung. His knuckles made contact with a jaw with a satisfying crack.

"You little ... "

Okay, maybe swinging at someone you couldn't see wasn't such a hot idea. Warren hit back hard and split Scott's lip open. The force of the blow was enough to knock him into the wall behind him. Scott had nowhere to go and was going to be on the receiving end of a real beating. Again. He raised an arm to ward off the next blow. It never came.

"Warren! Stop it. Right now."

It was Jean. Surprisingly, Warren obeyed. Scott had no way of knowing that Jean was protecting him with a psychic shield. Warren couldn't breach it in any way.

"He started it," Warren said defensively. "He hit me first."

"Why?"

Warren said nothing. Neither did Scott.

"I see," Jean said. "A guy thing." 

With a furious glance at Scott, Warren stalked out. Jean helped Scott up from the floor and lifted his face to the light.

"Let's take care of this, shall we?" she offered.

* * *

Scott sat still as Jean efficiently washed off the blood and applied ointment and band-aids. Her fingers felt cool on his face. He didn't mind her touching him.

"Are you going to tell me why you two were fighting?"

"No," he said honestly. He thought about it some more. "It was silly."

Jean didn't have much experience with teenage boys, but she wasn't a complete fool either. She was well aware of Scott's feelings towards her. But if he didn't want to tell her what the fight was about, she wasn't going to make him. She could guess, anyway. 

"Hank was telling me about some of the tests they've run," Jean said, changing the subject. "He thinks quartz crystals might work out in producing some kind of shield for your eyes."

"Yeah," Scott agreed and then acknowledged, "I don't understand half of what he says, but he seems to know what he's talking about."

Jean laughed. Hank had an IQ at genius level; he had raced through his undergraduate degree in record time and finished a joint MD/PhD program in the same about of time it took most people to finish the standard MD program. If there was anyone in the world who knew what they were talking about, it was Hank.

* * *

That evening, Scott and Warren called a truce. There wasn't much else they could do; they were stuck in the same house for the next couple of months, until Warren started at Yale. So they sat on the couch in front of the TV with Ororo sitting between them. A human barrier forced them to be somewhat civil to each other. At least for the time being.

They were halfway through a decent movie (Ororo interpreted the action on the screen for Scott when there was no dialogue) when the doorbell rang. Jean answered it.

"Robert, right on time. Let me get my purse." Jean moved quickly up the stairs.

"Hey kids," a voice called from the hallway.

"Hello, Dr. Bob," Ororo and Warren sang out in unison.

"Please don't call me that," he said in return.

"Who's that?" Scott asked.

"Jean's boyfriend, Robert Blaine" Ororo responded. "He's a doctor, too. A first year resident. We call him Dr. Bob."

Scott thought that one over. "Like the Muppets?"

Warren smiled. Looked like this kid was quick on the uptake. "He prefers Robert," he said carefully. "*We* prefer Dr. Bob."

"Any resemblance?"

"We think so," Warren replied.

Scott grinned. There was finally something he and Warren could agree on. It was a start. He passed Warren the popcorn and they settled back to watch the movie.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 4

Scott may have felt drawn to Jean, but it would be Hank who would come up with the technology that would change his life. 

They had been running tests with different kinds of quartz for over a week and finally had it narrowed down. There was a kind of quartz that didn't crack under his optic beam and seemed to be able to contain it. Ruby quartz Hank called it. They were back in the lab for a final test.

"Now, Scott," Hank said. "I want you to hold this up to your face and open your eyes."

Scott sighed and did what he was told. He opened his eyes and saw he was holding a big, flat slightly rounded stone. The beams weren't going through it; they hit the stone and stopped. For Scott, it was amazing.

"Pull it closer to your face," Hank instructed him.

He did so, pulling it almost to his nose. Hank noted with awe that while the beams pooled out a little, they didn't lick the edge of the stone. This was definitely the right material. Now all they had to do was figure out how to use it.

"Eureka," he breathed.

Scott closed his eyes. "This is good?" he asked.

"This is extraordinarily good." Scott couldn't see it, but Hank was beaming.

* * *

Three days later, Scott was back in the lab chair.

"Now," said Hank, barely controlling the excitement in his voice. "Let's try this."

Scott felt Hank place something heavy on his face. It was heavy and wrapped around his face, tapering back to fit behind his ears like eyeglasses.

"Open your eyes, Scott."

Cautiously, Scott opened his eyes. The room was in a red haze -- but nothing happened. No blasts, no damage, no screams.

He could see.

For a moment Scott was afraid to turn his head. Then slowly, he did. Standing just to his right was a young man in his twenties. He had a kindly face and *huge* hands, completely out of proportion to his body. This was Hank.

Slightly behind him, was an older man in a wheelchair. He smiled encouragingly at Scott. "Professor Xavier, I presume?" Scott joked. Then he bit his lip as it hit him.

He could *see*.

* * *

Everyone was delighted with the results -- even Warren, who didn't even mention that the visor looked a little silly on the teenager, which Scott already knew. Hank was going to experiment with ordinary eyeglass frames, to try to find something more comfortable and lightweight. Even Hank realized the quartz visor was heavy; however much he loved being able to see again, Scott was relieved to exchange it for his blindfold at night.

Although they had found their substance and Scott had a workable visor, Hank and the Professor continued to do testing on both the quartz and Scott's ability to control the force beams. Which resulted in later news, that, if it didn't take away from the joy Scott felt at having his sight returned, did put a damper on his enthusiasm.

* * *

That Saturday, Scott waited nervously for Jean to arrive. He was going to see her, finally. His mouth was dry and he was feeling very sick. 'That's all I need,' he thought glumly. 'To pass out. Then I'll really look like an idiot.'

He heard the hall door slam and Jean's quick footsteps. "Scott?" she called out.

They had told her, of course.

Slowly, he walked into the hall and stood there, dumbstruck.

She was beautiful.

Jean had been described to him, of course, by various people, including Jean. He knew she had red hair and brown eyes. He knew she was very tall; taller than he was. But that didn't prepare him for how everything fit together. She was -- gorgeous. She took his breath away.

She turned and smiled. His heart leapt.

"Hi," he managed to get out.

"Hi, yourself," she responded with a big hug. "You can see okay with those?"

"Fine," he said. Oh, God, she had a beautiful smile. "Hank says my vision is twenty-twenty. I see everything in red, but that's better than nothing at all. Trust me."

Jean laughed.

She had a beautiful laugh, too. But after living in the house for a month, listening for the sound of her voice, Scott already knew that.

* * *

The rest of the day was spent outside. Scott was slowly getting used to having his sight back, as well as the red wash he saw everything in now. In some ways, being able to see again felt stranger than being blind. But he wasn't complaining. Red haze or not, he was independent once more. He didn't need Jean or Ororo to run interference for him. He was back in control of his life and it felt great.

They were playing volleyball after lunch in the back garden. It was a game Scott had always enjoyed. He and Warren played against Jean and Ororo. Although their senior by several years, Jean never balked at joining their games. In many ways, it was easy to forget they were in high school and she was in medical school. Jean often seemed as much Scott's contemporary as Ororo was.

The game had been going well and Warren and Scott were winning. Scott had a natural athleticism as well as a truly competitive spirit. Warren was glad for once to have Scott playing with him. Scott had a unique ability, likely tied to his mutation, of being able to track objects in space. It was almost as if he knew where the ball was going to be, seconds before it got there. It was no wonder they were winning. But Ororo and Jean were not going down without a fight.

Ororo sent the ball back to the net with a hard slam of her fist. Scott jumped to block it. Then it happened. He misjudged the shot and the ball hit Scott in the face, sending his visor askew. A bolt of energy shot out, taking down a tree limb behind them.

Ororo screamed and ducked for cover.

Scott shut his eyes instinctively in terror. He had done it again. Blown something up. Even with the visor, he was a danger to everything and everyone. 

With all these thoughts in his mind, and the memory of every explosion he had ever caused, he turned and ran for the house before anyone could stop him. He heard Jean call after him, but he didn't stop.

* * *

Jean, Ororo, and Warren stared at each other, dumbstruck. They had never seen the blasts that came from Scott's eyes before. It was more than impressive, it was downright scarey. 

But Jean was more concerned for Scott. She had had accidents herself, in the early days of her mutation. She knew what it was like to feel like you were making headway in controlling your gift, only to have it all fall apart minutes later. She followed Scott into the house and knocked at his bedroom door.

"Go away," he called in a muffled voice.

She ignored him and entered.

The lights were off and the setting sun sent shadows across the room. Scott lay on the bed with his back to door. His visor lay beneath his sprawled hand.

"Go away," he repeated. "I don't want to hurt you."

Jean ignored him and sat on the edge of the bed. "Scott, you're not going to hurt me. It was an accident. We've all had accidents, trust me. There's nothing to be worried about. Everyone's fine; you just took out a tree limb."

"I could have killed someone," he choked. "I know what I can do, Jean. How can the Professor call this a gift? If I can't chance using a visor; I'm going to have to wear a blindfold for the rest of my life."

"Scott, that's not necessarily true ..."

"Yes, it is." He sighed and continued to speak, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and his back to her. "You weren't here. The Professor and Hank talked to me a couple of days ago. They got all the x-rays and everything that was done from all the hospitals I was at as a kid. I have a dead patch in my brain. It's the part that would have allowed me to turn it on or off. There's nothing anyone can do. I'm brain damaged."

The last was said in a whisper. Jean said nothing; what could she say? She moved closer to him stroked his hair gently. At first he flinched at her touch. He was so unused to caresses it broke Jean's heart.

"Okay," she said. "So you won't be able to turn it off. That doesn't mean that learning some control will be out of the question. And the visor does work. We just have to be a little careful, that's all. Put your visor back on, Scott," she coaxed. "Come back outside. I'm not leaving until you come back with me."

Scott sighed and put his visor back on. After a few moments, he rolled onto his back and looked at her. Jean smiled.

"Do you really think I can learn some control?" he asked.

"I think if it's possible," Jean replied honestly. "You'll be able to do it. I have faith in you, Scott."

She had faith in him. That wasn't something Scott was accustomed to hearing. It was something to live up to, at any rate.

* * *

That Sunday night was quiet in the mansion. Jean decided at the last minute to stay the night and return to the city the next morning, instead of driving back that afternoon. Scott was glad she stayed longer and so was Professor Xavier. Scott had been badly shaken by the accident and Jean had been the only one who was able to make him see that there was nothing to be upset about. As a sign that the Professor believed the visor would work and that Scott was not a danger to anyone, Scott's bedroom had been moved upstairs that weekend. There wasn't a lot to move, but the symbolism meant a great deal.

But the late night calm was broken. Scott woke with a start at the sound of a woman screaming. *Jean screaming.* Quickly, he exchanged his blindfold for his visor and went to the door. He saw Ororo coming down the hall, away from Jean's room.

"What was that?" Scott asked.

"It's just Jean," Ororo said, not unkindly. "She has nightmares sometimes. She says she's okay. Goodnight, Scott." Ororo closed the door to her room. No one else was in the hallway. It must be a common experience, if only one other person checked to see how Jean was.

Scott stood for a moment in the doorway. That scream certainly hadn't sounded 'okay' to him. He hesitated for a moment, then went down the hall to Jean's room and knocked at the door.

"Come in," a shaky voice said. 

He opened the door and went to Jean's bedside. She was sitting up, hugging her knees. The bedside table lamp was on and cast a soft light over the room. 

"Are you okay?" Scott asked.

"I'm fine," she said, but she couldn't keep the sob out of her voice.

He sat on the side of the bed. "You don't sound fine."

"I have nightmares. Bad ones sometimes. This one was -- pretty bad."

Scott took Jean's hand and began stroking it. "I can stay with you for a while," he offered.

"That's okay," she said. "You don't have to. I'll be fine."

Scott sat and thought. There had to be something he could do to help. Regardless of what Jean said, she was not *fine*. Then he remembered something one of his foster parents used to do when he had nightmares and headaches. He moved to sit behind her and began to rub her shoulders.

"God, you're tense. No wonder you have nightmares," Scott commented. "You work too hard." 

In spite of herself, Jean laughed. From anyone else, that would be a pickup line, and an old one at that. But Scott said it with nothing more intended than honest concern. It was sweet.

"I'm in medical school, Scott; tense comes with the ter -- oh, that's great," she murmured. Jean had never had a proper massage before. She was stunned by how much better she felt after a few minutes.

"Good," Scott said as he kept massaging her shoulders. He stayed with her until she had relaxed enough where she could fall asleep. Then he went back to his own room, pleased with himself. It felt nice to be able to do something for her, something no one else could do. And deep down, he loved being able to touch her.

He went to bed and slept soundly until he heard the birds singing in the morning.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 5

As soon as his vision was restored, Professor Xavier began to tutor Scott in preparation for his return to high school in the fall. While Professor Xavier called the Institute a "school," he only taught the students how to control their powers and the ethics of using them. He left the regular education of the children to the local school system. Scott, however, needed some academic assistance before he would be ready to join Ororo at the high school. They had three months to play catch up.

The first thing Professor Xavier did was administer a volley of tests to see exactly how far behind Scott was. He didn't expect the news to be good. Scott should be in the eleventh grade, but had lost a year of schooling from being in a coma and almost two years from living on the streets. 

However, the results of the tests were far more encouraging. Scott read at grade level and had a remarkable aptitude for mathematics. So, the Professor set up an ambitious study schedule for Scott. They studied math for two hours a day and also covered English composition, literature, and basic science principles. Scott read the freshman and sophomore World History texts used by the public high school on his own. 

The results were amazing. Scott cruised through the math texts, leaving him more than prepared to begin Algebra III in the fall. He grasped the finer points of English composition, acquired a decent grounding in science, and easily passed the world history exam. And he did it all in three months.

Even Warren was impressed.

* * *

The rest of the summer passed quickly and without further incidents. Scott's nerves had slowly steadied and he was beginning to come out of his shell. Not only was he beginning to talk more, he also sang! Never when he thought anyone was around of course, but still, it was possible to hear him singing around the house or the grounds. Both the Professor and Hank agreed he had not only a fine voice, but a truly enviable talent of staying in tune. The boy was certainly full of surprises.

As far as Scott was concerned, life at the mansion was pretty good. While they lived in a mansion, the students weren't waited on. They were expected to keep their rooms neat, make their beds and change their own linen. There was a laundry service for the sheets and towels but Mrs. Hanscomb supervised the rest of the laundry, which was done according to a duty roster. They also set and cleared the table after meals, and kept the house tidy. There was a regular cleaning service for the rest and a gardening service for the grounds. Scott didn't mind the odd chores they were assigned. He would have done anything asked of him. For the first time since his parents deaths, he felt he had finally landed somewhere. That he landed somewhere where the people seemed to genuinely care about him was almost unsettling, after years of abuse and emotional neglect. They had even thrown him a birthday party with cake and balloons, for crying out loud!

At the center of all this was the Professor. Austere and sometimes aloof, he could also connect with his students with surprising insight. Telepath he might be, but he used his powers with sympathy and understanding. Telepathy didn't automatically give you those characteristics; but in Charles Xavier's case, his powers were truly a gift. 

Then there was Ororo. By now, she and Scott were fast friends. This wasn't a huge surprise, really; there was only a year between them and their backgrounds were similar. Ororo had told Scott her story in bits and pieces over the summer and he had woven it back into a tale very like his own.

They had both lost their parents young -- Ororo had been eight when her parents were killed in an earthquake in Egypt. Because neither the American or Kenyan authorities could locate any living relatives, she had been placed in a Cairo orphanage for "temporary shelter" -- and promptly forgotten. She remained there for four years until one day when she dressed in boys clothes and walked out the door.

Ororo trekked back to Kenya, where she had spent her early childhood, through Egypt, Sudan, and Ethiopia, before settling on the plains in the south. By then, her powers over the weather had developed and she was practically worshiped as a goddess. Eighteen months later, the Professor found her, explained to Ororo what she really was, and offered her a chance to come to the Institute. She accepted and had been at the Institute for two years.

She also served as a reminder to Scott that he wasn't the only one with issues regarding his powers; Ororo had a shakier control over hers than at first glance. When she was angry or upset, the skies above the Institute showed it. 

After Ororo, his next favorite person living at the mansion that summer was Hank. While the man was undoubtedly a genius, he also had a great sense of fun and happily joined in any game or mischief, and was often the instigator of both. Scott had also discovered what Hank's mutation actually was -- he turned into a huge blue creature. The "control" came from a substance of his own creation. Professor Xavier had his doubts regarding its constant use, but Hank couldn't bear to give up his human persona this early. Scott didn't blame him.

Scott also found himself slowly liking Warren more. At first, he had held Warren in contempt for his wealthy, pampered background, but those feelings soon were dissipated as he slowly learned more. Warren's secure, privileged world had been shattered by his mutation -- big white wings and the resulting ability to fly. For a while, Warren had successfully hid them, but he was eventually found out. His parents had been happy to turn him over to Professor Xavier; Warren rarely saw them or heard from them. Like Scott, he knew what it felt like to be abandoned.

And on a personal level, Warren could be fun. He had a lot of charm (when he chose to use it) and surprising insight into what made people tick. Like Scott, he might occasionally show bitterness with his lot in life, but, also like Scott, he decided to put that bitterness behind him -- most of the time.

And then, there was Jean -- who by now Scott adored. Everyone was aware of it, even Jean. But Scott was under no illusions that his feelings were returned. Jean treated him with the same affection she treated Ororo, Warren, and Hank, but nothing more. And if she seemed to welcome his company, well, she was just being nice. Of course, Scott had no way of knowing that Jean had increased her visits to the Institute since he arrived. 

One person who did know that, and wasn't happy about it, was Dr. Robert Blaine. In fact, Scott Summers was rapidly becoming a thorn in his side. While the students at the Institute had always made it plain by look and by word, that they considered Robert an interloper, Scott's presence only magnified the problem, as far as Robert was concerned.

The biggest problem was Scott was always *there*. There was no chance for privacy. Jean would only laugh -- which is what Robert hated the most. She was so at ease with Scott, she didn't notice what an annoyance the kid had become.

It didn't occur to Robert that Jean didn't find Scott an annoyance at all.

* * *

At the beginning of the school year, Professor Xavier enrolled Scott in high school in the eleventh grade. He created a transcript for Scott, from a public high school in Washington that no one would ever bother check with, along with all the other requisite paperwork. Scott had to laugh when he saw it; Professor Xavier had credited him with two years of high school English, Algebra I and II, two years of World History, two years of PE, two years of Auto mechanics, Earth Science and Biology. Scott felt the auto mechanics was a nice touch after living in a garage and learning the work for three months, and said so.

Still, Scott admitted to feeling some nerves as he sat in the counselor's office of the high school, going over the curriculum and the electives. This was all so alien to him now. Could he really go back to school, like nothing had ever happened? Professor Xavier apparently thought so, but Scott wasn't entirely convinced.

Scott turned his attention back to the counselor, Anna McRae. "Well, Scott," she said in a friendly tone. "All the records from your old school seem to be in order. We have you signed up for 11th grade Language Arts, Algebra III with Trigonometry, U.S. History, Chemistry, elementary Spanish, and PE. As for your last elective, Professor Xavier tells me you enjoy music and have a good singing voice. We can put you down for music. Would you like to try out for the school chorus?"

Behind his new glasses (Hank had been able to fit a pair with more standard looking frames), Scott gave the Professor a dirty look. Just as well they couldn't see it. "Okay," he heard himself saying.

He was going to be singing in the choir. He was going to high school like any other ordinary suburban teenager. After everything he had been through in his short life, Scott felt this turn of events to be totally surreal.

* * *

Scott got through his morning classes and gratefully met Ororo at lunchtime. If the boy with red glasses and the girl with long white hair were getting a lot of notice, they paid no attention.

"How's it going?" Ororo asked.

"Not bad," Scott said. "I've had to explain the glasses to every teacher and show the Professor's letter to them. But it's working out better than I thought it would."

"Hey, Ororo, who's your friend?" A pretty blond girl came to sit with them.

"Hello, Tracy. This Scott Summers, he's a new student at the Institute. This is Tracy Hamilton, one of my friends."

"Hi," Scott greeted her and smiled. Ororo bit back a smile of her own. The kid had a killer smile and hadn't a clue. She didn't want to think what that smile was going to do to the female population of the school. It looked like her senior year was going to be more interesting than she thought.

* * *

Three weeks later, Scott was sitting in the principal's office, waiting for Professor Xavier to arrive. His shirt was torn and splattered with blood (his and Wayne Wendinck's). 'So much for fitting back in,' Scott thought disgustedly. 'I'm going to be tossed now, for sure.' He only hoped and prayed that Professor Xavier wouldn't do the same and expel him from the Institute as well.

He looked up when the Professor entered the room and immediately looked down again. He'd let the Professor down. He'd let Jean down. He'd let them all down.

"What happened, Scott?" the Professor asked quietly.

"I got into a fight," Scott answered succinctly. He looked the Professor in the eye. "I was at fault," he admitted. "I threw the first punch."

"Why?"

"He ... he was saying things about Ororo," Scott confessed. "I told him to take it back and he wouldn't, so I hit him."

Just then, Principal Gordon's office opened. "Good morning, Charles." Principal Gordon said. "I am sorry to have to make you drive in from the Institute. Please come in." She waited for them to get settled. "What do you have to say for yourself, young man?"

"I'm sorry," Scott said. "I shouldn't have done it."

"Are you saying that because you're sorry, or because you were caught?"

Scott thought that over. "Both," he admitted.

"Well, Charles, at least he's honest," Principal Gordon stated wryly.

"Who did Scott hit?" the Professor asked.

"Wayne Wendinck. He got the worst of it. His parents have already complained."

"With your permission Elizabeth -- Scott, would you mind waiting outside for a few minutes, please?" After Scott left, he turned his attention back to the principal. "Wayne Wendinck? He's a senior and on the football team, isn't he? Are you telling me that Scott overwhelmed someone who's three inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than himself?"

"This is nothing to be proud of, Charles," Elizabeth Gordon said reprovingly. " I'm sorry, I'm going to have to suspend him."

"For how long?"

"A week. Wayne has been suspended as well. Perhaps they'll both learn something from this. You can take Scott home with you. And if he behaves himself the rest of the year, we won't think of this again. But he has to learn he can't beat people up, whatever the provocation."

"Oh, I'll see to it he learns that," Professor Xavier assured her as he left the office.

* * *

The drive back to the Institute was thankfully short. Scott bit his lip, waiting for the Professor to tell him to pack and leave. He wondered if he could get back to the garage in DC. Would Mr. Reynolds even take him back? Unshed tears pricked Scott's eyes. He'd blown it again.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Scott," Professor Xavier said severely.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't think being suspended means you won't be working for a week. We'll be studying together again; I won't allow you to fall behind. And you'll have all your homework to makeup when you get back to school."

It was Scott's turn to be surprised -- and relieved. "You're not going to kick me out?" 

The Professor was stunned. "Why do you think I would do that?" Professor Xavier asked. "This is your *home*, Scott. I don't abandon my children just because they have problems. In that case, I wouldn't have any students at all. But I do think it would be a good idea if we channeled some of that energy of yours."

"What do you mean?" Scott asked.

"I was thinking martial arts lessons might be of help," the Professor said thoughtfully. "It will teach you to focus and control your emotions."

Scott found himself smiling. "And I'll learn to beat the crap out of someone properly," he said _sotto voce_.

Professor Xavier pretended he hadn't heard that.

* * *

When Scott returned to school after his week's suspension, he was surprised to discover he now had something of a reputation. He'd beaten up a *senior* -- no one was going to mess with him. And the Professor followed through with his plan to enroll Scott in a martial arts class and Scott was soon learning karate. He had an aptitude for it and rapidly rose through the class rankings.

As the Professor had hoped, the karate lessons helped Scott adjust to school as well, giving him the control needed to ignore the taunts from the football team. His grades were good, although chemistry was touch and go, and he got all the way to the Christmas break without further incident. 

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 6

Scott soon discovered the Christmas season was taken seriously at the mansion. Mrs. Hanscomb began baking and decorating the first week of December. She enlisted the aid of Scott and Ororo whenever possible. Usually, she wound up working with Scott, more often than not. He was happy to put up decorations, hang out of windows to hang and adjust wreaths, and run up and down the stairs fetching boxes and greenery.

He was introduced to another Institute custom by Ororo and Warren one weekend.

"Come on, Scott," Ororo called. "We're going shopping! You have to come and pick a name."

Scott put down his book and wandered out of the library. "Huh?"

"Everyone picks a name from the hat," Ororo explained. "That's the person you buy a Christmas present for. And everyone gets twenty dollars to spend and they mustn't spend more than that. Here's your money, and here's the hat. Pick."

Scott took the envelope and reached into the hat, drawing out a small scrap of paper. He opened it. "Ororo" it said.

"Okay," he said. "Let's go."

* * *

They were originally only going to go to the local mall until Scott uttered the shocking words: "I've never been to New York City."

Warren almost drove the car off the road. "What do you mean, you've never been to New York City? Ever?"

"I came straight here, Warren -- you know that. It's not like I've ever left Westchester. Hell, I haven't even left the Salem area," Scott said defensively.

"Well," Warren said, smiling as he changed lanes. "You're in for a treat. Hold on to your seat, Slim. We've got a change in plans."

* * *

Warren drove straight to his family home in Manhattan. The sprawl of suburbs was unremarkable until the skyscrapers appeared in the distance. While Scott had spent years living in cities, none were as big or beautiful as New York. He felt his jaw drop in awe as he stared up towards the sky.

Warren drove along Central Park before turning down a side street and pulling in front of an old four story brownstone. A startled butler opened the door.

"Hey, Martel, how are you doing? You remember Ororo, and this is Scott Summers, another one of The Gifted. Any word from the parental units?"

"Good morning, Mr. Warren. Delighted to see you again, Miss Munroe. Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Summers. And yes, your parents left word that they will be staying in Bangkok until New Years."

"Well, would have been nice if they had told me, but that would have required calling me. Can't have that." Warren led the way to the back of the house.

Scott couldn't help but look around. It was like being in a museum. Old furniture and expensive artwork were all over the place. Warren caught his look of awe.

"Welcome to my world," he said with an airy wave of his hands. Then he grinned. "So, what do you want to do first?"

* * *

The rest of the day was spent sight seeing. They took a cruise around Manhattan, had lunch at Times Square, went to the Statue of Liberty, and toured Ellis Island. Mindful of their reason for being out, they also took in the shops on Fifth Avenue. Not that they could have bought anything for twenty dollars there, but it was fun, nevertheless.

It didn't take long for Warren to convince them to stay overnight. They called the Professor who gave his approval, so they wouldn't have to go back to the Institute until Sunday night. Which left their plans for Saturday night wide open.

Warren had pushed, begged, entreated, for them all to go to a club that night. He might have been able to persuade Scott, but Ororo was made of sterner stuff.

"No," she said firmly. "I'm not of age, and neither is Scott. We can go to dinner, if you wish, but not a club." She was in her ex-Goddess mode and couldn't be moved.

In the end, they stayed in and ordered pizza. They sat in the library of the Worthington house, eating pizza, drinking soda and watching tv. And laughing. Scott couldn't remember having this much fun in a long time.

* * *

The Professor was pleased to see them return in one piece, Sunday night. The trip, based on their reactions, had been successful. The shopping had been done, the "secret" Christmas gifts picked and, best of all, Warren, Scott and Ororo had bonded during the trip. Getting away from the Institute had done them a world of good and it was interesting to see how these three unique teenagers had jelled into a odd sort of team. A team -- that would be something for the Professor to think about.

* * *

Whatever thoughts Charles Xavier might have had for the future were put on hold. There was the Christmas concert at the high school -- Scott had a solo and they all went to the performance, Warren arrived from Yale to spend the holidays and there were even more preparations in the house and the kitchen. Mrs. Hanscomb was going out of town to visit her sister and she seemed determined to prepare enough food to last them the entire two weeks she would be gone.

A week before Christmas, Professor Xavier sat in the main hall, supervising the erection of the gigantic Christmas tree. It took the combined efforts of Scott, Warren, Hank, and Ororo to bring the tree in and set it up.

Mrs. Hanscomb stood in the hall with them, taking a break from her cooking marathon, and answered the door when the bell rang.

"Mrs. McCoy! How wonderful. I feel so much better about leaving, knowing that you were coming." Mrs. Hanscomb sounded downright enthused, Scott thought.

He turned to look at the figure at the door. Scott didn't know what he expected Hank's mother to look like, but he wasn't sure this was it. She was short, a little plump, probably in her late forties, and she certainly didn't stand still for a second. Edna McCoy was a motherly, loving, whirlwind.

Right now, she was all over everyone in the hall. "I'm happy to be here, Mrs. Hanscomb. It's good for Hank to be with his friends and it's a nice change for me. Hank, give your mother a kiss. Charles, you're looking well. Warren, you're looking more handsome every day. Ororo, my pet, I took your advice and my roses came back to life in no time. And you must be Scott," Mrs. McCoy continued warmly, stopping in front of Scott . "Honestly, Charles, don't you feed this boy? He's skin and bones."

"It's not for want of trying, Edna," the Professor commented drily.

"Well, look at that tree," Mrs. McCoy exclaimed. "I love decorating trees. This is going to be a wonderful Christmas, I can tell."

Her enthusiasm enveloped everyone, even Scott.

* * *

The next day, Mrs. Hanscomb left on her vacation and Edna McCoy took over the housekeeping for the group. The meals might be simpler under Mrs. McCoy's hand, but they were just as yummy as far as Scott was concerned.

The day before Christmas, the final food preparations began. Scott found himself with Hank helping Mrs. McCoy in the kitchen. He had never seen so much food in his life. There was the turkey, a ham, vegetables, potatoes, rolls, pies, candy, and something called sausage rolls that the Professor liked. There was enough food to feed the six of them for a week.

Christmas eve, they lit the tree and drank eggnog. Scott, Warren, Ororo, and Hank played board games while the Professor and Mrs. McCoy watched. She leaned closer to speak privately.

"You've done a good job with Scott, you know," she said. "I admit, from what Hank said of his background, I had my doubts."

"I confess, I had my concerns as well, Edna -- not all my students have been resounding successes," Professor Xavier admitted. "But, there is something about Scott. Have you noticed how he wins any game that requires strategy? He has good instincts and he's quite intelligent. And he has a remarkable sense of space and movement. He's much stronger than he looks, as well."

"What are you planning, Charles?" Mrs. McCoy was suddenly concerned. Hank and Jean were adults, but the others -- they were only children.

"I'm not sure," he confessed. "But the world won't be blind to the presence of mutants forever. We need to be able to act if necessary." Professor Xavier smiled ruefully. "That's as far as my plans have gotten."

"He's a child, Charles," Mrs. McCoy reminded him sharply.

"No, Edna, he's not. Scott hasn't been a child for a long time. But don't worry. I won't involve any of them until I decide what I want done. And that may take time."

But Edna McCoy was still disturbed.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 7

The winter sun peeked through the blinds as Scott was woken by Ororo insistently knocking on his door. 

"Come on, Scott, get up. It's Christmas! You have to open your presents."

Presents? Scott's sleepy brain struggled to process Ororo's words. That's right -- he had presents! Well, one present anyway. That was worth getting up for. He dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt before going downstairs.

The sight that greeted him made Scott stop dead on the staircase. The tree was stunning in the morning light and gayly wrapped packages abounded underneath it. It was almost unreal, it was like walking on to a stage setting.

The Professor saw him on the staircase and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Scott," he called.

"Merry Christmas," Scott returned. He finished walking down the staircase and stood in the hall just looking at the tree until Ororo reached out and pulled him to the floor beside her. 

"It's about time," she said. "We've been waiting for you."

"Stormy-girl plays gift fairy," Warren observed from beside the Professor's wheelchair. "She gets to crawl under the tree and pull out gifts for everyone. So, what are you waiting for, Ororo, get started!"

With much laughter, they began to open their presents. Scott was stunned to discover he had more than one present under the tree. He watched Ororo as she opened her gift from him. He hoped she liked it.

Ororo pulled the object free of the tissues with a squeal of delight. It was a Zulu basket, beautifully woven and hand made in South Africa. Scott had found a shop that specialized in African wares from their shopping trip in New York City. He knew how much she loved anything from the continent where she had spent most of her life.

Scott was just as pleased with his presents. He got a 2000 piece puzzle (his gift from Hank), a thick biography of Alexander the Great, a soft sweater in a dark teal (according to Ororo anyway, it was a kind of purple to Scott), a tin of fudge from Mrs. Hanscomb (everyone got their favorite candies), and a bag of Christmas cookies from Mrs. McCoy. He hadn't received this many gifts since he had been orphaned.

Christmas breakfast was laid back and served in the hall, not the dining room. Mrs. McCoy brought out a cart loaded with tea, coffee, juices, fruit, warm sausage rolls, croissants, bagels with cream cheese, danishes, and other goodies.

"Make sure you get plenty to eat. Dinner won't be until 2:00," she reminded everyone.

The rest of the day was slow and lazy. They all returned to their rooms to wash up and dress before donning aprons to help with the Christmas dinner. Which was a riot, in Scott's opinion. He discovered another Institute tradition at the dining table. Beside each plate was something called a "Christmas cracker." The "cracker" turned out to be a decorated cardboard tube stuffed with a paper hat, little toy, and a funny saying, like in fortune cookies. When the ends were ripped off, the tubes made a loud snap, like a cap-gun. Scott had never heard of them before; Ororo explained they were an English tradition. 

And the food! The table practically groaned with everything on it. Scott had a healthy appetite but even he had to call it quits at some point. After the leftover food was put away and the table cleared, they went back to the Drawing Room to play games and have fun. Scott had never had a Christmas Day like it before and the day was over much too early, as far as he was concerned.

As evening fell, Scott played chess with Hank. Hank had taught him the game as soon as he could see again. Scott had learned quickly and was a formidable player -- even if he did call the rooks 'castles' and the knights 'horses'.

"Ororo said Jean might come by tonight," Scott observed.

"It depends how unpleasant a time she's having at home," Hank responded with unusual bluntness.

"Henry," Edna McCoy reproved her son.

"Please, Mother, Scott's not a fool. Jean has loving parents, it goes without saying. But, her mother has not adjusted to her daughter's mutation as well as one could have hoped. In many ways, she's never really accepted it. Jean can't help but feel the, well, *rejection*. Christmas is always a tense time in the Grey household. In recent years, Jean has taken refuge here, as needed. Some holidays have gone extremely well and we don't see her until New Year's. Others -- she's gotten here by four o'clock. Since it's now eight, I'm hopeful she's having an enjoyable time."

Actually, Jean didn't arrive until the next day. Scott was happy for her, in spite of having missed her the day before. Her Christmas couldn't have been too bad.

Her smile was bright as she entered the hall with a suitcase and two shopping bags. "I'm finally here," she called as she hugged everyone. "Merry Christmas. Did you all have a good time."

"Great," Scott answered. "How about you?"

Her smile slipped slightly, but she quickly recovered. "Very good," she said. "We didn't kill each other, and I stayed until this morning. Which is pretty good for us, so I'm thankful. Who's up for a snowball fight?"

Scott realized then what the rest of the mansion had learned long ago -- in spite of her having a family, Jean was as alone as the rest of them. The Institute *was* her family in a way her real family could never be.

* * *

They spent most of the day outdoors, playing in the snow. Lunch was cold ham or turkey sandwiches and dinner was reheated leftovers from Christmas dinner. There was very little kitchen preparation and Mrs. McCoy only allowed the students to clean up. The evening was spent as the previous, with games and chitchat.

The late night quiet was shattered at one a.m. by Jean's screams. Scott woke up, put on his robe and walked down the hall to Jean's room. He nodded to Ororo, who had poked her head out the door of her room and seemed grateful not to have to go check on Jean. He saw Mrs. McCoy coming out of her room.

"I've got it, Mrs. McCoy," he called out. She nodded and went back into her room. Scott knocked on Jean's door then opened it. As before, Jean was sitting up with the light on, grasping her knees. Tonight, she was rocking back and forth as well.

Scott sat down on the bed and pulled her into his arms. Without being asked, he began to stroke her back. He knew she liked that.

Jean sighed contentedly and rested her head on his shoulder in gratitude. She had gotten used to the feeling of Scott's strong hands and how much better she always felt after a shoulder rub. Jean noticed he wasn't as slight as he had been when he first arrived. The karate lessons were helping to build some muscle mass. He was a little taller, too. Good nutrition and regular meals had apparently helped kick off a final growth spurt. Scott was probably going to be as tall as she was and she was almost six feet tall.

"Wanna talk?" Scott asked.

"No," she said in a small voice. Jean hesitated for a moment. "Would you rub my shoulders?" she asked. "That always feels so good and makes me relax."

"Sure," he said as he moved behind her. As Jean said, Scott soon felt her relaxing beneath his hands.

"Where did you learn to give such great massages?" she asked.

"One of the people I stayed with, she was a masseuse for a living," Scott replied as he worked on a knot near her shoulder blade. "Sometimes she'd show me things and I'd help her set up after school and stuff."

Jean turned to look at him. "Do you know how to do a full back massage?"

Scott shrugged. "Yeah."

"With, like, rubbing alcohol?"

He nodded.

"I've got rubbing alcohol in my medicine chest," Jean told him as she got up and started walking towards the bathroom.

"Wait," Scott called after her. "I don't think we should."

"Why not?"

Oh, great, he was now stuck having to explain. "You're going to have to take your nightgown off," he told her. "Your back has to be ... bare."

"I could put a towel around me."

"We're .. we're in your bedroom and it's late," Scott insisted. "I don't think ... people might say things if they knew."

Jean now realized the problem. He was concerned for her reputation, of all things. And maybe he didn't trust himself. Jean, however, was quite sure she was good enough with her TK to handle a horny teenager, if it came to it. 

She was too shaken by her nightmare and needed that back massage too badly. "Are you going to take advantage of me?" she teased. 

"No," Scott replied tartly.

"Well, then," Jean said. "I'm not going to take advantage of you, either." Her voice softened. "It's perfectly innocent, Scott."

He saw the need in her face and capitulated. "Okay," he said, but he still didn't sound convinced.

* * *

"Oh .... that's wonderful. You've got great hands. You've got hands a surgeon would envy."

"Thanks," Scott said drily. He couldn't imagine what he would say if someone happened to open the door to Jean's bedroom. She was lying face down on her bed, with the sheet drawn up to her lower back and a towel beneath her, to catch the alcohol and to cover herself, if need be. So far, Scott was behaving himself. He concentrated only on her back and his hands didn't wander even a millimeter. Even though he was sorely tempted.

But Jean trusted him. And there was no way Scott would ever betray that trust.

"And you learned this with one of your foster families?" Jean was asking.

"Yeah; Charlotte and Bill were pretty cool. They were a couple of space cadets, but they were nice."

"Why didn't you stay with them?" Jean wasn't sure she should ask, but she wanted to know.

For a moment, Scott's hands stilled, but then he resumed rubbing her back. "I got sick again; I had to go back to the hospital," he said lightly. "While I was there, Bill got a job offer in California. He's a college music teacher and this was a full time faculty job. But it was a last minute appointment; he had to leave quickly. There wasn't any time. They looked into taking me with them, but I was a ward of the state. It would have taken a lawyer, time, and money -- they didn't have any of those things. So they had to leave." 

Scott was silent for a moment. He didn't want to talk about the aftermath. He didn't want to talk about how the pains in his head had become unbearable; he didn't want to talk about the psychiatric hospital he had been sent to. So he talked about better things, things that couldn't hurt. 

Much.

"They were nice people," he continued. "They taught me a lot of things. Bill even taught me how to play the guitar."

"I didn't know you could play the guitar."

Scott nodded. "I don't have one here, of course."

"Would you like one?"

"Guitars cost money, Jean. I don't have any."

"I don't know," she muttered dreamily under his ministrations. "We might be able to find one. You'd be surprised what's tucked away in this house."

* * *

Jean had to return to school after New Years and Scott didn't see her again for two weeks. But she wasn't idle. She had been touched and saddened by the story of his separation from the one foster family that wanted to keep Scott. Jean wanted to do something for him, give him something he would really enjoy. So, on her next day off, she commandeered Hank and they went trawling through New York's second hand music shops.

"Why can't we just buy one from a store?" Hank complained as they walked into their fourth music shop.

"No, Hank," Jean said firmly. "We have to get a used guitar, so we can tell him we found it in the house. Otherwise, he won't take it."

Finally, after the umpteenth attempt, they found a suitable instrument. The man in the shop seemed to know what he was talking about and helped them pick a guitar that would be good for both a beginner and a more experienced player. Jean had no idea what Scott's level was, but had a feeling he was probably pretty good.

Sneaking the guitar back into the house and hiding it was Hank's job. He felt he had been a successful conspirator and waited for Jean to come back and make her "find". 

* * *

"Scott! You'll never believe what I found," Jean's exuberance was contagious as she held out the guitar.

"Where did this come from?" Scott asked as he gingerly took the instrument.

"I remembered I thought I had seen one up in the attics. I think the Professor had a cousin or something that played. There's so much stuff up there, I thought it was worth a second look.

Scott looked over the guitar with interest. If it had been in the attic, it had to have been protected by something. There was no dust to speak of and it was in great shape.

"Do you think the Professor would let me use it?" he asked.

"I think the Professor would let you *have* it," Jean assured him.

Scott's smile made the hours of searching for the right instrument worth it in Jean's mind.

* * *

Professor Xavier, fortunately, was quick on the uptake and knew exactly where the guitar had really come from, without having to read anyone's mind. But he didn't give the game away and cheerfully gave permission to keep the gift.

Scott happily took his "find" back to his room and began to tune it. The strings were in really good shape for something that had been hidden away for years, he noted. He smiled and began strumming the guitar. The sound was good, but it also sounded like there was something loose inside the body. He held the guitar upside down and shook it. A small piece of paper fell out and he picked it up.

The piece of paper was part of a pawn ticket. The guitar had been pawned two years ago. Jean hadn't found the guitar. She had bought it -- for him.

Scott smiled broadly as he began to play.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 8

High school classes resumed after New Years. Ororo had taken the SAT's back in the fall and the results were due any day now. Like all the college bound seniors, she was getting nervous about the results.

"Where do you want to go?" Scott asked her one day at lunch in the cafeteria.

"I've asked my scores to be sent to WestConn and a few other places, but I think I'd like to go to WestConn. It's closer, and I could still live at the Institute. Jean and Hank both think I should go to Columbia, but I'd have to live in New York and I'm not ready to leave yet. Have you thought about where you'd like to apply for next year?"

The question floored Scott. "I hadn't really thought about college much," he admitted. "I'd have to get a scholarship or something."

Ororo smiled. "You *have* a scholarship, Scott. From the Professor. At least, that's how he explained it to me." She saw the look on his face and took his hand. "You're not taking anything from anyone else. The Professor paid for Hank's education and Jean's medical school fees. Warren's family can support him without help, but you and I -- the Institute *is* our family. I like to think of it as a scholarship for 'The Gifted'." She grinned.

"I guess so," Scott returned. College -- that was something he hadn't thought about in years. It hit him suddenly that he actually had a future. He could do anything -- he could even go to college.

* * *

Scott always understood how powerful his gift was and the need to careful at all times. But accidents would and did happen. Scott felt accidents happened to him with alarming regularity.

While Scott didn't like to admit it, he enjoyed being in the choir. But being in the choir meant performing, and performances meant extra practices after school, especially for the soloists. On one such night, Scott offered to find a ride back with one of the other students, but Ororo only sighed and said she'd pick him up afterwards.

The practice rooms were separated from the parking lot by the playing field. Scott looked at his watch and broke into a jog -- he was going to be later than he told Ororo and he didn't want to keep her waiting. But the ground he was running over was uneven and he found himself tumbling to the ground. He lost his glasses in the fall and a blast escaped before he could shut his eyes. Scott heard a shout, but he didn't dare move.

"Hang on," said a familiar voice. Ororo -- thank God. He felt her place his glasses back on his face. Scott took a deep breath and looked away before opening his eyes. 

"What did I take out?" he asked glumly.

"The bleachers," Ororo told him. "Well, three of them, anyway. Don't worry. No one was hurt."

"Did anyone see?"

"I don't see anyone else around, so I don't think so," Ororo responded gravely. "But we need to move away before someone sees us."

Much later, they found out someone had.

* * *

Although Ororo and Scott weren't originally going to tell Professor Xavier what had happened, they were compelled to do so after the damage was reported on the local news and was blamed on unnamed "vandals". The Professor didn't seem surprised, gave them both another lecture on the need to be careful, and paid for the repairs anonymously. Thankfully, there were no more accidents the rest of the year. 

After his fight with Wayne, Scott had settled into the routine of high school. Through Ororo, Scott made a number of friends, and Ororo had been quite correct regarding Scott's possible effect on some of the girls at school. She was certain behind his glasses he had a "deer in the headlights" look when some of them got a little too forward. But Scott was always able to extricate himself from any awkward situation. He continued with his karate lessons and did well in his school work. His final grade in chemistry was a B minus -- largely thanks to Jean, who drilled him whenever she was at the Institute. 

The highlight of the year was Ororo's graduation from high school. Everyone came to cheer her on and she was accepted at Western Connecticut State University in nearby Danbury, where she could easily commute back and forth. Scott understood her desire to stay at the Institute. Even Warren chose Yale mostly because it was close enough to allow regular visits. The Institute provided them with a measure of peace and safety they couldn't find anywhere else. Scott agreed with Ororo; he too had no intention of giving that up any time soon.

* * *

That summer was wonderful, in Scott's opinion. Warren came back, Ororo wasn't leaving, Hank was going to be "in residence" again doing research and even Jean was going to be spending most of her summer break there. It was becoming possible for Scott to forget, forget the explosion in DC, the FBI, and everything that came before. He could think of himself as almost normal.

Of course, Scott *wasn't* normal; he was an extremely powerful mutant. He and Professor Xavier continued to work on his gift, but no amount of concentration on Scott's part provided any level of control. The nearest they could come was when Scott narrowed his eyes, the beams narrowed accordingly. Seeing this, Hank went scurrying back to the lab, to work on a new type of visor he said. At the end of a long day, Scott didn't much care what Hank was going to work on -- his head hurt too badly and he was just glad of an opportunity to lie down.

They discovered the limits to Scott's powers quite by accident. Hank and Scott had been experimenting outside with a neatly camouflaged blast wall. Scott had been keeping his eyes open for several minutes, before Hank started noted a downward trend in the measurements. The slide was steady until the blasts stopped.

"Scott," Hank called. "Why did you close your eyes? Scott? Scott!"

Scott had passed out on the grass. Twenty minutes later, he revived.

"Wha, what happened?" he murmured.

"You lost consciousness," Hank informed him as he applied another compress to Scott's forehead. They were still in the gardens, but Hank had moved Scott beneath a tree for shade. "Your power does not seem to be of indefinite duration. It appears that the blasts will deplete the energy in your body until you collapse."

"Hmm," Scott said. He look away at a dead tree limb and tipped his glasses slightly. The dead wood was blasted to splinters. "Seems okay now," he commented.

"Yes, that does appear to be the case," Hank agreed. "I'd like to perform this experiment again, with your permission. It would be of interest to know exactly what the power interval is with your gift."

Scott shrugged. "Fine with me."

* * *

At dinner that night, Hank waxed poetic on this latest discovery. While Professor Xavier was intrigued by the results, Jean was vehement in her disapproval.

"Scott's not a lab rat, Hank," Jean stated furiously. "This could be dangerous. You don't know what the long term effects of this will be."

"I assure you, Jean, I have no intention of putting Scott in jeopardy," Hank replied. "However, it would be in his interest, in everyone's interest, to understand what the limits are on his gift. He'll never have any chance of controlling it otherwise." 

Jean had no real answer for that, so she remained silent, but was obviously unhappy. Scott attempted to placate her. "I *want* to know what I can do, Jean," he said. "This is the only way to find out. Hank's very careful when we do testing. I only passed out for a little while; my powers came right back. It's not like I threw up, or something."

Both Jean and Hank had to smile at Scott's view of what constituted a serious medical problem.

"Fine," she said, relenting. "But don't come to me if you fall on your face and your nose starts bleeding."

That drew a chuckle from the Professor. "I think Hank is capable of dealing with that."

* * *

The results of the experiments were exactly what Hank surmised. Scott had a "firing time" of about 15 minutes, after which, he would become so weakened he would easily pass out. After about 15 to 20 minutes of rest, Scott would recover completely and have full use of his optic blasts again.

The Professor found the results interesting, both for the information regarding the duration of Scott's powers, as well as the physical effect on Scott. Hank turned the information gleaned into a new visor design for training. Made of a lightweight, but durable, polymer, the ruby quartz was a single lens inlaid in the center. An aperture allowed the beam to be controlled by width.

Scott turned the visor over in his hands with interest. Hank happily explained the mechanism. 

" ... and with this control here, you can widen or narrow the beam. Otherwise, the lens is secure. It's just like what we were hoping to provide with nat--, er, non-artificial control."

Surprisingly (for Scott was touchy regarding his inability to control his powers), Scott smiled. "Adaptive technology?" he asked.

"Adaptive technology," Hank confirmed.

* * *

At the end of July, Hank went to visit his mother and Ororo accepted Warren's invitation to spend the weekend at his family's home in the Hamptons. Scott passed on the invitation and was delighted to have done so when Jean unexpectedly showed up for the weekend. He was less happy to find she had a date with "Dr. Bob", but, he decided, you couldn't have everything.

Late that night, Scott woke up, thirsty and with his nerves jangled by a dream. He rarely told anyone he had bad dreams, but he suspected Professor Xavier knew anyway. He got up to get a glass of milk from the kitchen. That would help him get back to sleep.

He made his way downstairs by the light of the upper landing and crossed the hall. He froze at the sound of voices.

"No, Robert, don't. We're not alone in the house."

Jean's voice. She was in the Drawing Room, even though the lights were off. Her words were followed by,

"The old man's not coming downstairs and the kid's tucked up in bed. We're alone."

*Robert.*

"I don't want to." Jean sounded irritated.

"Dammit, Jean, you never want to," Robert returned, matching her tone for annoyance.

"Please, I'm just tired ..."

Scott wasn't going to tolerate Jean being bothered by anyone, even her boyfriend. There was an easy way to break things up. He kicked the side table with a theatrical "Ow!" and continued on to the kitchen. He got his milk and paused in the doorway, listening to Jean bidding Robert good night in the hall. He heard the door slam as Robert left the house. Satisfied, he took the back stairs up to his room.

* * *

He wasn't surprised to hear a knock on the door a few minutes later.

"Scott?" Jean opened the door and looked in.

Scott turned on the bedside light and Jean crossed the room, sitting at the foot of the bed. For a moment, she just looked at him.

"I just didn't want you to think ..." she began.

"I don't have to think -- I know what was going on. Does he make you, Jean?"

She smiled slightly. "No, he doesn't *make* me do anything. Sometimes he doesn't pick the best time -- like tonight."

Scott was skeptical and his face showed it. She sighed.

He regarded her for a moment. Robert was such a jerk. "Jean," he said softly. "No one should ever hurt you."

Scott leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It was brief, sweet, and held a hint of the passion that might lay beneath. For a moment, Jean was stunned. Then she stood up.

"Well," she said quietly. "It's late. We need to go to bed. Good night." She moved quickly out of the room.

It was years before Scott realized there was another meaning behind her parting words.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 9

Jean said nothing to Scott about what happened the next day, and showing remarkable tact, neither did Scott. But Jean thought about it a great deal. She was mostly angry at Robert. He was behaving like a teenager, making out with his girlfriend downstairs while "the adults" were upstairs -- it was ridiculous at their age. She couldn't imagine Scott being that stupid.

Then there was Scott. She knew he had a crush on her and at first, she was flattered. Jean wasn't used to that kind of attention. But over the past year, Jean had begun to regard Scott as a true friend -- someone who would listen to her and really care. She found herself forgetting about their age difference and treated him as an adult -- an equal. Scott had been so good to her and was always happy to do anything for her, from back rubs to helping Hank drill her for exams. 

But he wasn't her age, and he wasn't an adult. Scott was a minor, living under Professor Xavier's protection. She shouldn't be encouraging his advances. He should be kissing some cheerleader, not a twenty something medical student.

But she couldn't forget how soft his lips were -- and how right it felt.

* * *

That afternoon, Professor Xavier called Scott into his study.

"I have a favor to ask," he said. "If you feel capable of it."

"Sure," Scott said automatically. "What do you need?"

"Cerebro is picking up some anomalies in Connecticut. It could be a mutant whose gifts are beginning to manifest. But the readings are strange. In fact, they are so unusual to be almost incomprehensible. I'd like you to go and retrieve the mutant, and bring him back here."

Scott was startled. While the Professor occasionally used Cerebro to locate mutants this was the first time he was asking someone else to go, other than himself. Scott had no hesitation, though -- he owed the Professor too much. "Fine," he replied. "I can do that."

"I'd rather you didn't go alone, though," Professor Xavier added. "He seems to be reasonably young, but it might be better if there were two of you. Since Ororo's not here, I'd like you to take Jean with you. Her telekinesis might be of assistance."

Scott wasn't sure how he felt about that; it was almost as if the Professor didn't trust him to go and pick someone up on his own. It was only a simple retrieval; how hard could it be?

* * *

Scott found Jean and explained the situation to her. The unusual nature of the request banished any awkward feelings between them. In less than half an hour, they were headed towards Connecticut, where Cerebro said the mutant was.

Scott wasn't entirely sure he trusted this Cerebro thing. He had only been in the room once ("This is a big round room," was his only comment). But the place gave him the heebie-jeebies and he steered clear of it whenever he was in the basement. Scott had become used to the striking difference between the upstairs and the basement areas. Originally excavated and built as a laboratory for Xavier's physicist father, the Professor had expanded and added to the area. The basement was now bigger than the house above it, which was saying something.

* * *

Scott was at the wheel of the van, much to Jean's annoyance. A year ago, Scott was almost timid; now he got in the front seat and took control with an ease that startled her. Jean pointed out all the reasons he shouldn't be driving; he wasn't going to be seventeen for another couple of weeks and he had obtained his drivers license only a few months ago. Scott merely returned that he seldom got lost and Jean was there for backup. Miffed at the unexpected retort, Jean lapsed into a sulky silence.

They found their destination easily. It was an abandoned warehouse in a run down section of town. Scott parked the van and looked around; it was late summer, but he felt a sudden chill.

"Jean," he warned. "I don't like the feel of this. Something's wrong. Stay close."

Ordinarily, Jean would have made a quip about his suddenly bossy tone, but she didn't. She felt it too.

They looked around the street for a moment and picked the large building in front of them as a likely candidate for someone to hide. There was a rickety staircase in front of them and a door to the right. Scott opened the door carefully, keeping Jean well behind him.

Scott took in the locale in an instant. There was a dirty mattress on the floor, a few wood chairs, a folding table -- and a wide-eyed boy.

As far as Scott was concerned, discussion could wait. "You're coming with us," he said as he strode into the room and grabbed the boy's arm.

But the boy wrenched it back. "I don't want to go," he whined.

"Look," Scott began with exasperation. "You may think he cares about you, but -- "

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a voice said behind them. They turned.

The man was in his twenties probably, but he had an older, harder, feel about him. He moved from the doorway and walked to the center of the room. Scott made sure to keep themselves between him and the door.

"Who are you?" Jean asked.

"They call me Jack," he said. "Billy, come here."

The boy pulled away from Scott and moved to Jack's side. "He wouldn't go with you, you know. Not unless I told him."

Scott had the bizarre feeling he was watching cobra. It was almost hypnotizing. Then he realized in horror, it wasn't the boy that was the mutant, it was Jack!

"Jean, don't look at him," Scott warned.

But it was too late. Jean was already under.

"You figured it out," Jack said as he moved closer to Scott. Scott, in turn, backed up, trying to keep a clear line to Jean and the door.

"You're pretty," Jack leered at Scott. "The girl is nice enough, but you're special. You'll do very well for me."

"Go to hell!"

"I don't think so," Jack said smoothly. "I think you'll work for me. And your girlfriend. You will in the end."

Scott made up his mind. There was nothing he could do for the boy, but there was no way he was going to allow Jean to be held in this mutant's thrall. He got hold of Jean and made for the door. She didn't resist. "We're getting out of here." 

"Think you're strong enough to oppose me, *pretty boy*?"

They were words that made Scott's blood run cold, but he didn't let it show. "I know I am," Scott replied as he lifted his glasses.

The bolt of energy shot the mutant across the room. Scott grabbed Jean and fled. He didn't look back once.

* * *

Jean regained her senses halfway back to Westchester.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I don't know," Scott answered. "Suggestive power maybe. Maybe something with the eyes. That could be why he didn't control me quickly; the glasses might have caused some interference. Either way, we have to let the Professor know."

Scott gripped the wheel of the van as he drove so Jean couldn't see how much his hands were shaking.

* * *

Scott quickly poured out the story to Professor Xavier the second they got back. The Professor was suitably horrified by what they found.

"I'll make sure the situation is taken care of," he assured Scott. "I know of a mutant that used to be with Interpol; he's living in New York now. I'll warn him of Jack's power. I'm sorry I sent you in unprepared." The Professor hesitated, then continued. "You used your gift against him?"

"It was the only way to get out of there," Scott explained. "So I blasted him."

So calm -- too calm. So unlike the boy who used to be terrified of his gift. If this was a harbinger of things to come, Professor Xavier was not happy. "Is he dead?" he asked Scott.

"With luck."

"Scott," Professor Xavier's voice was firm. "We don't kill." The Professor had no objection to his students using their powers to defend themselves, but lethal force was to be avoided at all costs. If this were a change in Scott's behavior, it needed to be nipped in the bud right now.

"I can," Scott replied. "And I will -- to protect myself and my friends. Don't worry, Professor. I'm not going on a rampage." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to the gym."

He turned and walked away leaving a very concerned Charles Xavier to stare after him.

* * *

Jean went looking for Scott later, finally tracking him down in the gym. She watched Scott from the doorway, beating a punching bag to death with his fists and his feet, using every karate move he had learned, as well as some street moves that would never be taught in a class.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"No," Scott's voice was firm as he continued his assault on the punching bag.

"Sometimes it helps."

"Only in your psych books," he returned.

"I didn't know you had read them," Jean said drily and sat down on the bench. And waited.

She didn't have long to wait. Scott stopped punching the bag and looked at her.

"What's wrong?" Jean asked again.

"We barely got out alive," Scott remarked disgustedly.

"Thanks to you we did."

Scott shook his head. No, in his eyes he had done nothing.

"Come and sit down," Jean urged. Finally he did, but he made sure not to touch her. But she didn't need him to for her to get a sense of his thoughts. The anguish was pouring off of him. But *why*?

"*Please* tell me what's wrong," she begged.

"When the Professor asked me if we could handle making a recovery of a mutant, I thought, 'Sure, I can do this,'" Scott said miserably. "Who was I kidding? I'm not strong enough. I've never been strong enough. People have walked over me my whole life, they've ... they've ..."

"What have they done, Scott? This is more than a recovery gone wrong. Please, tell me. I can't help unless I know." 

He shook his head.

Jean put her arm around his shoulder and moved closer. Scott flinched, but didn't try to push her away. "I've seen the scars on your back," she said quietly. He shuddered. "I'm not a fool, Scott; I know you've been abused."

"I never told anyone," he confided in a low voice. "The doctors in Washington knew, but I never told them."

"You can tell me," Jean whispered. "It doesn't matter what it is. You know you can trust me."

'You know you can trust me.' Scott could trust Jean. He had kept silent for *so* long. It was time to tell someone. "The scars are from the psych ward," Scott began. "They tried to make me ... but I wouldn't. So they beat me. They said they'd make me beg. That was the first time anyone tried ... and that's when my powers came. I blew the wall out and escaped."

Horrified, Jean pulled Scott closer to her. She understood exactly what he had said. *The first time.*

"Then what happened?" she asked.

"The blasts didn't last long," he continued quietly. "When I could open my eyes again, I ran. I stole a wallet in the confusion; there was enough money to get me to another city. I stayed in a shelter there as long as I could and then I moved on. I couldn't go back; I *wouldn't* go back. In another city, I got caught stealing and wound up in Juvie. There was an older girl there; she liked to touch ...; but I didn't care. That wasn't the worst."

"Tell me."

He took a deep breath, but he couldn't stop now. "It was two years ago, before I got to Washington. I was hiding in an abandoned building and ... some men found me there. It was my fault, I shouldn't have been there. They grabbed me and held me down and ..." Scott gulped. "There were two of them. I tried to get away, but I couldn't. No powers. Nothing."

Jean held him as he shuddered through the memory.

"When they were finished," he continued. "They threw me ten bucks. Said a pretty boy like me could make his living ... Oh, God, Jean, I took the money! I was so hungry, I hadn't eaten, I took the money." 

"Shhhhh," she crooned. "Scott, listen to me. You were a victim. You were fifteen years old. It wasn't your fault."

"Why, Jean?" Scott asked. "Why could I save myself in the psych ward, but not there? Why did blasts come out of my eyes for no reason a dozen time before, but not *then*. There was *nothing*. I couldn't do anything to protect myself. I was helpless. I swore I'd never be helpless again." He snorted with disgust at his own words. "Who am I kidding," he repeated. "Nothing's changed. I'm weak, I'm prey -- I'll get you killed."

"Scott, listen to me," Jean said firmly. "You are *not* weak. Far from it. You're one of the strongest people I've ever met. And you weren't the one who almost got us killed. It was me. I fell under his power; not you. You were the one who stepped in and saved us both."

He shook his head in disagreement.

"No, Scott," she insisted. "You were right. You were right from the beginning. And in a bad situation, there's only one person I would want beside me -- you."

Jean guided his head to her shoulder. Scott didn't mind. His head was throbbing now and her shoulder was comfortable. Spontaneously, he kissed the gentle swell of her breast where his cheek lay. 

She knew she should have remonstrated with him for that, but she couldn't bring herself to. Jean turned slightly so she could take him completely in her arms. Scott tensed at first, and then relaxed.

"You're safe with me," Jean whispered. "You'll always be safe with me."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 10

Scott told Ororo and Warren an abbreviated version of what had happened during the attempted retrieval when they got back the next day, minus his emotional confession to Jean. Even they hadn't discussed it since. It was a secret held between them.

Ororo and Warren were stunned by what had happened in their absence.

"There's something I've been thinking about, though," Scott said at the end. "The Professor had to call on a mutant in law enforcement for help, but how many of those are there?"

"Your point is?" Warren asked.

Scott hesitated, trying to put his thoughts into words. "There are a lot more mutants out there then we thought. Not all of them were lucky enough to wind up here or someplace like it. Some of them use their gifts -- to hurt people. Only another mutant could stop them."

"You think we should all become cops?" Warren snorted.

"Nooo," Scott said slowly. "But I think -- we need to be ready to help. To step in, if needed. The world doesn't know about us yet. I'd like it to stay that way for as long as possible."

Ororo pondered what Scott said. Unlike Warren, she didn't dismiss the idea out of hand. "How would we do that?" she asked, intrigued. 

"I don't know," Scott replied. "But, somehow, we need to become a, a, a *strikeforce*. Or something like that."

Warren laughed. "A mutant SWAT team? Us? Slim, look at us -- we're teenagers."

"Which is why we should start now," Scott stated. "I don't think we're going to have a lot of time to get ready."

* * *

Scott's conversation with Warren and Ororo began to bear fruit immediately. While Warren initially scoffed, Scott noticed Warren highlighted the fencing classes on his course schedule at Yale. And Ororo signed up for lessons at the same martial arts school Scott attended. She chose a style that was more defensive in nature, but still, she was giving it a shot.

As for the others, Hank was bemused by the idea, but supported the general theory, and Jean seemed completely taken aback. The need of physical training when they had the powers they had didn't make much sense to her and she said so. But old habits died hard; Jean was so accustomed to taking part in their activities that she often joined Scott and Ororo whenever they practiced together. Occasionally, Warren would be there. They found to their surprise that they all worked together rather well.

Scott articulated his thoughts on their training together for the future to Professor Xavier one evening when they played chess. The Professor looked thoughtful. Of course, the idea had been in his mind for quite some time. But the Professor never dreamed that his students would come to the same conclusion on their own.

"I have to admit," Professor Xavier said. "The idea crossed my mind as well. You're quite right, Scott; there are many mutants out there who do not share my respect for humanity. And they are also quite powerful. But are you sure you want to do this?"

Scott looked at him steadily. "Yes," he said. "I do."

* * *

Peace returned to the Xavier Institute for the rest of the summer and the fall. There were no more retrievals. Scott wasn't sure if Xavier wasn't finding any new mutants, or just wasn't looking.

School began again and Scott found himself missing Ororo greatly. He was used to eating lunch with her, and while he had friends to eat with and talk to, it wasn't he same.

He sat for the SAT exam at the end of October. And back at the Institute, everyone seemed to have an opinion of where Scott should have his test scores sent, with everyone favoring their own alma mater. But Scott went white at the mention of Columbia and green at the thought of Yale. One was too big and the other made him too nervous. He wasn't sure he wanted to follow Ororo to WestConn either. Professor Xavier realized that a smaller school might be more to Scott's liking and sent off for catalogs and brochures from some area colleges. Scott looked at all of them, but found himself drawn to a nearby liberal arts college, Manhattanville College. Warren scoffed and called it a "girlie school" (it had started as a woman's college), but Hank had been supportive, as had Jean and Ororo. So, Scott added Manhattanville to the group of schools to which his SAT scores would be sent.

Professor Xavier confirmed that Scott would not have to worry about his tuition and fees. Scott wasn't nearly as comfortable about it as the others seemed to be. He owed the Professor so much at this point -- the idea of repayment was ludicrous. How do you repay someone for rescuing you from hell and giving you back a decent life? 

Early in December, the Professor reported finding another mutant he wanted brought in. This time, things were much different. Scott and Ororo went together and scoped out the situation before making contact. In this case, the boy (whose name was Daniel Evans) was an ordinary mutant runaway and the poor kid was relieved to be found. Getting him back to Westchester was a breeze.

* * *

Christmas and New Years came and went with all the joy and trimmings of the previous year. Young Daniel Evans was just as overwhelmed by it all as Scott had been the previous Christmas. 

Unfortunately, Jean had not had a particularly good visit with her family and showed up at the Institute at 6:15 p.m. and in a fair temper. Scott hadn't gotten any details out of Jean when he spoke to her about her sudden arrival, but he had gotten her to laugh and considerably lessened the temperature around her.

* * *

In late January, Scott sat in the library, eyeing the thick envelope in his hands. It held his SAT results; he hadn't opened it. 

Professor Xavier entered the room. He knew what had arrived in the mail for Scott. He also knew Scott hadn't opened the letter yet.

"Would you like me to open it?" he offered gently.

Scott handed him the envelope gratefully. The Professor sliced the envelope open with his letter opener and quickly read the contents. 

Scott looked at him, biting his lip. "Well?" he asked nervously.

Professor Xavier smiled and handed the results back to Scott. "They're good, Scott," he told the boy. "Very good."

Scott peered over the Professor's shoulder. His score was 1350; 700 in math, 650 in verbal. Not bad at all.

Scott grinned broadly. "Looks like I'm going to need your scholarship after all."

* * *

Scott had assumed that they would always have to go and get the students to bring them in. He never dreamed the day would come when a mutant would just arrive. But their next student showed up on their doorstep, literally.

Scott opened the door that Saturday morning to find a couple with a young girl. She looked to be about fourteen. 

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"This is the Xavier Institute?" the man asked. "I'm Howard Dane, this is my wife and our ward, Lorna. We think she belongs here."

Scott heard the Professor enter the hall and was grateful to be let off the hook. "Um, Professor," he said slowly. "These are the Danes. They think Lorna belongs here." He backed away to let Professor Xavier handle it.

The Professor was surprised, but not unwelcoming. "Please come in," he said politely and led the way to his study. Intrigued, Scott followed and settled himself unobtrusively by the door.

After they were all seated, the Professor asked, "What do you know of the Institute?"

"It was the high school guidance counselor who suggested we come and see you," Mr. Dane explained.

"Your high school counselor?" the Professor asked in bewilderment.

"No, yours -- here in Salem. Anna McRae is a cousin of mine. She seemed to know that you take children who are -- a little different."

"And Lorna ...?" Professor Xavier inquired.

Mrs. Dane nodded to the young girl. "Go ahead, Lorna. Show him what you can do."

Lorna held out her hand and the paper clips came flying out of their holder on the desk to her. From his vantage point, Scott didn't think it looked like telekinesis; he was used to that from Jean. This seemed like something else.

"Magnetic power," the Professor murmured. "You're quite right, Mr. Dane. I think Lorna does belong here."

"Good," Mr. Dane said, relieved. "My wife and I discussed ..." 

"NO!" Mrs. Dane suddenly exploded. "We didn't discuss it! You decided it!"

Scott decided it was time to step in. "Why don't I show Lorna around?" he offered. He could sense what was coming. If there was going to be a fight, the kid needed to be away from it.

Professor Xavier looked at Scott with gratitude and nodded his consent. A great deal would have to be discussed, and it would be best if it were *not* in front of the child.

* * *

Scott showed Lorna around the downstairs rooms and took her out into the garden. She stared at the fountain for a few minutes.

"Do you like it here?" Lorna blurted out.

"Yes, I do," Scott affirmed. "The Professor is great. The high school isn't far away and it's also pretty small. You won't get lost in the cracks. The students there are pretty nice, too."

"How many other kids are here?"

"Well, Daniel Evans just got here a few months ago; he's a year older than you. I'm graduating this year, and there's Ororo -- she's in college, but she lives here and commutes. Then there are some, well, alumni, I guess, that come back pretty regularly. You won't be alone."

"That's not a lot of people," Lorna said dubiously.

"No," Scott agreed. "But they're all nice."

"I think you're nice," Lorna stated.

"Thank you."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Okay."

Lorna glanced up at him. "My hair is really green," she confided. "We dye it brown."

Scott laughed. "Green or brown, it's pretty much the same color to me. I'll tell you a secret. I have to wear these glasses to keep from blasting everything. Everything I see has a coating of red on it, so green is a really funny brown color to me."

Lorna smiled shyly. "Then it's okay?"

"Lorna," Scott said as he put his arm around her and led her back to the house. "There is nothing you could do here that isn't okay. This is where people like us belong."

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 11

Three months before graduation, Scott stood in the sports field, surveying the wreckage of the bleachers. All he could think of was 'why me?' and 'why the bleachers?'. Once again, a wrong move sent his glasses askew. Once again, Ororo was, thankfully, the only other witness. Which was bad enough, because she'd never let him forget it.

They didn't even consider hiding the event from the Professor. Apart from questioning whether Scott had malevolent feelings towards the bleachers, Professor Xavier said nothing. Daniel merely snickered and Lorna wanted to go see the damage. But then, Lorna wanted to see the high school all the time; she was looking forward to going back to school. However, rather than start her mid-semester, the Professor decided to tutor her for the rest of the school year and have Lorna start in the fall. Scott suspected the Professor just enjoyed teaching. It was a shame he couldn't teach all of them at the Institute, but given the varied ages of his students and their abilities, it just wasn't possible.

They were protected and trained in the use of their gifts. If regular high school was the price, Scott felt they had a really good deal.

* * *

Scott stared at his reflection in the mirror. A young man in a cap and gown stared back at him. For Scott, it was almost overwhelming. His old, uncertain life was ending. He was graduating from high school and had been accepted at Manhattanville College. After a site visit, both he and Professor Xavier realized Scott would do very well at the liberal arts school. The day after tomorrow was graduation and he would be eighteen in August. Everything was coming together now in a way that almost frightened him.

"Admiring yourself?"

Jean stood in the doorway, amused.

"No," Scott said quickly, removing the mortarboard from his head. "Just trying it on. I guess ... I just never thought I'd get here." 

"I know the feeling," Jean responded. She had graduated herself from medical school in May. Scott would have liked to have gone, and Jean wanted everyone there, but Jean had to limit her invitations to her parents and her sister and brother-in-law. But Professor Xavier had thrown Jean a party back at the Institute, which almost made up for it. Jean would be starting her First Year Residency in July.

"So, where did you think you would be?"

"If I hadn't have been found by the Professor?" Scott asked. Jean nodded and he thought about it for a moment. "When I was with Mr. Reynolds, I thought I might be a mechanic. He said I had a good aptitude for it. I doubt I would have gone back to high school, though."

Jean wasn't surprised by his answer. Scott did all the basic maintenance on all the cars, even hers when she came to visit. She hadn't had to take her car to a garage in almost two years, and it ran better now than it ever had before. 

"I'm sure you would have been a really good mechanic," she said as Scott hung his robe up in his closet. "But now you can be anything you want to be. You have choices."

"Choices are nice," Scott agreed as they walked down the stairs together.

* * *

"Scott Summers."

Scott rose and walked to the podium to accept his diploma. In the stands were Professor Xavier, Jean, Hank, Ororo, Warren, Lorna, and Daniel. His family.

He made his way to them after the ceremony and received hugs from all. Scott was aware of a movement behind him. It was Anna McRae, the guidance counselor.

"I'm glad to see you all here," she said. "How are you settling in, Lorna?"

"Fine," Lorna replied, but she stepped closer to Scott.

"I do have a question, Ms. McRae," the Professor began.

"How I knew Lorna belonged with you?" she finished for him. "The first time the bleachers had to be repaired -- I was in the parking lot. I saw what Scott had done, but I left before you could see me. I don't pretend to understand how you do what you do. I only know, Charles Xavier, you've done very well by these children. You should be proud of them."

"I am, Ms. McRae," the Professor responded. "More than you will ever know." 

* * *

The summer passed at the Xavier Institute as per its usual. Jean and Hank both spent a great deal of time there -- Hank had finished his Residency and was now a researcher at Columbia and Jean just started her Residency program. Warren returned for the whole summer and he, Ororo, and Scott picked up where they had left off, with Lorna and Daniel tagging along after them whenever possible. Life at the Institute changed, and yet, remained very much the same.

For his part, Scott was developing a healthy respect for superheros. Fictional they may be, but week after week they went up against a powerful bad guy and came out ahead. Scott thought he would be lucky to make it through to the next morning.

He, Ororo, and Jean had just returned from a mission ("mission" as in it wasn't a simple retrieval). They had gone to stop a mutant from using his gifts to subvert an entire community upstate. He hadn't cared for their actions much, but Scott hadn't cared for him either. It had taken the combined powers of the three of them to take him down and get out in one piece before the authorities arrived. All in a days work.

But, Scott thought as he trudged down the stairs in his pajamas, they absolutely had to start training together -- hard -- on a regular basis. They were a little sloppy tonight, and sloppy was going to get them killed. Scott had no doubt they would be going on "missions" as often as "retrievals" soon enough.

He went to the kitchen for a glass of his favorite chocolate milk when he saw Jean heading for the old servant's staircase. She was biting her lip and from the way she moved, she was obviously in pain.

"Jean? What is it?"

"It's nothing." Jean tried to make her voice sound normal, but she wasn't completely successful.

"Yeah, right," he said and then sucked in his breath when she turned to climb the stairs. "Oh, Jean," he breathed.

The back of her leather jacket had been sliced open.

* * *

For once, Jean didn't object to Scott's bossiness. Sometimes it was good to have a team leader. Scott helped her to her room and got her seated at her dressing table. Scott carefully peeled off the jacket. It looked worse underneath. She had obviously been bleeding for hours.

"Why didn't you say something?" he fumed as he went into her bathroom for towels and water.

"Honestly, it didn't start to really hurt until we got back," she called after him. "How bad is it?"

"I can't tell yet," he responded. He came back in the room laden with towels and a basin of hot water. He looked at what was left of her top. "There's no saving this -- I'm going to have to cut it off. Put this around you," he added as he handed her a towel.

Jean smiled slightly as she draped the towel about her front. Scott had a care for her dignity that she always found touching.

He made short work of cutting off what remained of her tank top and bra and carefully unstuck the material from where it had been plastered to her by blood. He washed around the wound carefully before trying to touch it.

"It doesn't look too deep," he told her.

"Let me see," Jean insisted.

Scott sighed and turned her back to the dresser mirror and handed her a small hand mirror so she could see her reflection.

The wound was long and ugly, but shallow. The leather jacket had done a reasonable job of protecting her. But then, that's why they had started wearing racing leather -- to shield themselves as much as possible. She put down the mirror. "It doesn't need stitches," she told him. "Just clean it, put some anti-bacterial ointment on it and dress it."

Scott smiled. She was talking to him like he was one of her ward nurses. "Yes, doctor," he said meekly and went to work. "This is going to hurt," he warned her as he began to clean the wound.

Jean stiffened and bit her lip at the sting. Behind her, as he worked, Scott began to talk. He talked about everything and anything. It was easy to figure out what he was doing -- he was trying to distract her, to take her mind away from the pain. Jean was grateful for the attempt.

He worked quickly and was soon strapping down the bandages with tape. "There," he said. "All done."

Jean let out a sigh of relief.

Scott dropped to the floor and started taking off her boots. "What are you doing?" she asked him. 

"Taking off your shoes," he replied matter-of-factly. He looked up at her. "Do you really think you're going to be able to get leather pants off without help the way you're feeling now?"

Well, no, actually, she didn't, but she wasn't entirely sure she wanted Scott helping her undress. It seemed too -- intimate. But on the other hand, it was no more intimate than a back massage. She trusted him with that, she could trust him with this. So what if it were irregular -- their whole lives were irregular. Her head hurt, her back hurt, and now she only wanted to get to bed.

"Okay," Jean grumbled and undid the waistband of her pants and unzipped them. She stood long enough to ease them over her hips and once she was seated again, Scott reached out and carefully tugged them off. He casually tossed them into a chair.

"See," Scott said. "Mission accomplished."

She had to laugh at that, but a gurgling noise caught her attention and she looked up. Standing, shocked, in the open doorway was Robert. Behind him, wide-eyed, were Ororo and Warren. Jean saw how it looked in their eyes. Her clothes were strewn everywhere (Scott hadn't been particularly neat when he undressed her) and she was covered only by a towel and was practically naked. And there was Scott, right next to her and dressed for bed.

It couldn't have looked worse.

Jean opened her mouth. She was going to protest, protest their innocence, protest that things weren't the way they looked. But all she could do was stare back. 

Without a word uttered, Robert turned and left. Jean turned to find Scott looking up at her. There was a strange expression on his face. All of a sudden, she was too tired to think about it and too tired to care. She shut the door with her TK and turned back to Scott.

"Could you bring me my nightgown, please. It's under the pillow."

* * *

Back at Columbia-Presbyterian Hospital, Jean didn't see Robert for several days. Finally, she saw him in the cafeteria. She didn't know what she wanted to say to him, but she knew she had to say something.

"Mind if I sit down," she began.

"Suit yourself," Robert replied.

"About what happened at the Institute ..."

"I just want to let you know, I didn't say anything to the Board," Robert interrupted. "I don't want to destroy your career, Jean."

Jean was stunned. "What are you talking about?"

Robert was scornful. "What do you think I'm talking about? You and that kid, Jean. Can you imagine what the hospital board would make of you sleeping with a teenager?"

"But I never ... we never ..." Jean babbled. "It wasn't what you thought, Robert."

"Oh really," Robert drawled as he rose from the table. "You can try to fool everyone else, Jean, but not me. You were hot for that kid from the beginning. Maybe you have kept your hands off him, maybe not. But you weren't innocent, Jean. You were never that."

And with that, Robert walked away, leaving Jean embarrassed, hurt -- and wondering.

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

**Rebirth and Awakenings**

  


Chapter 12

Three weeks later, Scott was in his room, staring out the window. A week ago had been his birthday. Eighteen. Free at last, he wanted to cry out. Free and legally an adult. Now he could go wherever he wanted and do whatever he wanted to do. No more hiding and no more looking over his shoulder, afraid that someone would report him to Social Services. He finally had freedom and it felt great. 

He thought over the circumstances which had brought him to this point. He was exceptionally lucky, and he knew it. For the past two years, Scott had been in a loving, stable environment with people who had protected him and nurtured his abilities, both of his gift and his non-mutant talents. He was going to go to college and he could do anything he wanted with his life. He wasn't a freak, he was a man.

From his window, he saw Jean leave the house and walk towards the dock. Jean. She meant more to him than anyone now. Before, he believed she only thought of him as a friend. But since that night in her bedroom when Robert walked in on them, he wasn't so sure. He needed to know what her feelings were, one way or the other. Decisions had to be made. Scott cherished the relationship he had with Jean, but it wasn't enough anymore. He wanted more. But did she?

He would find out tonight.

* * *

Jean sat on the pier by the old boathouse and stared at the water, reflecting on her life. It wasn't a completely happy reflection. On the plus side was her graduation from medical school and beginning her first year residency. She looked forward to beginning her career, using all her talents to help people. But on the negative side was her breakup with Robert. After the scene in the cafeteria, any feelings she may have had for him had dissipated. He had hurt her too badly. Then there was the resulting yell-fest with her mother, who looked on Robert as the last thing to save her daughter from a life of mutancy. If only she knew -- just as well she didn't know.

She heard footsteps coming down the pier. She turned. It was Scott.

"Hi," he said, as he sat down beside her.

"Hi, yourself," Jean replied.

"It's a hot night," he commented.

"Hmm," she said. "People never think New York gets this hot." There was silence between them for a moment. "I'm sorry I missed your birthday party."

"It's okay," he said. "I'm not really used to having them again yet."

There was a moment of silence between them.

"I never thanked you for the guitar," Scott said suddenly. "I know you bought it. I always knew."

Jean smiled. "I wanted to give you something. Something you wanted."

"There are other things I want, Jean."

Oh, good heavens, she had walked into that one. Only, why didn't she feel affronted or embarrassed, or -- anything other than a burgeoning desire?

She turned her head to look at him. He was looking at her. It was so hard to tell his thoughts behind those damn glasses. His face gave nothing away.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was nothing like the time he had kissed her in his bedroom. It was complete, total. Hunger. That's what she felt. He was hungry for her. He wanted her so much it frightened him -- and her. Was this what she wanted? This -- hunger?

It was.

She broke the kiss roughly and stood up. Then she smiled and reached out a hand to him. It was what they both wanted. She led him to the boathouse.

* * *

Scott followed her to the enclosed patio of the boathouse -- a small guest house on the edge of the lake, next to the pier. The house was locked, but the screened-in room wasn't.

As the door closed behind them, Jean leaned in and kissed him again. Scott didn't know how to respond. He was more than nervous -- he was terrified. He had fantasized about this for *such* a long time. And now that fantasy was becoming reality, part of him was telling him to run while the other part was telling him to stay. So, he stood still, frozen, frightened, and, in spite of his fear, turned on.

But here was the advantage of being with a telepath -- Jean knew his nervousness and understood. She was still leaning against him. This close, she could see two pinpoints of light behind his glasses. His eyes. She saw him blink.

"You don't have to be nervous," Jean assured him as she kissed him gently. "It's okay. I'm not a virgin, Scott. Are -- have you ever been with a woman?"

"No," he admitted. Thank god, he could still talk. "I mean, ... I know the basic idea. But I've never ...." Scott hesitated. This was outside the realm of his experience. His only knowledge of sex was as a violent act or as witness to a commodity being bought and sold. Sex as an expression of love was almost alien to him. He knew he loved her; he wanted to make love to her, to show her how much he cherished her. But he had no idea where to start. "Show me," he begged. "Show me what you like. *Please*."

"I will," Jean whispered. "Kiss me."

Released from the paralysis that had gripped him, Scott put his arms around her and kissed her again, with all the passion and intensity in his nature. Suddenly, it was like a dam broke. Scott could hear Jean, *feel* her emotions, know her thoughts, as well as his own. Scott wasn't a telepath -- how was this possible? Yet, they were feeding off each other, all mingled together, both of them, impossible to sort out whose thoughts were whose, all their sensations interwoven with their minds. 

The kiss seemed to go on forever. Reluctantly, they broke apart. Scott pressed his forehead to hers, as if loathed to separate from her completely.

"Wow," he whispered. "I could *hear* you. And me. What was that?"

Jean was just as surprised as he was. "I don't really know," she admitted. "Some kind of a mental link."

"Is that normal for you?"

"No," she responded. "That's never happened before."

Scott smiled now, almost mischievously. "Let's see if it happens again," he said as they kissed and sank to the floor.

* * *

Hours later, Jean propped herself on one elbow and regarded her sleeping lover. *Her lover*. Strange, she had never considered Robert in those terms, but Scott she did. They were back at the mansion, in her bedroom, in her bed. 

The boathouse had been a revelation to her. They didn't have many coherent thoughts as things heated up between them, but Jean had been able to pick up a few from Scott. He loved her. He thought she was beautiful. He wanted her so much. Her skin was the softest thing he had ever felt. He didn't want the evening to end.

Jean felt it was a nice change to be loved.

She made sure Scott picked up some thoughts from her. She loved him. She truly wanted him. His skin was warm and his hands were gentle and oh, how much she needed that gentleness. She also didn't want the evening to end.

The sex between them had been awkward at first, mostly because of her limited experience and his total lack of it. But instinct soon took over and Scott had good instincts. All the passion and intelligence Jean had ever wanted was there, and to top it all off, sensuality in buckets. Who needed eroticism -- Scott knew about touch. Hands that were once content to rub only her back had roamed greedily over the rest of her. There wasn't a part of her body he didn't caress. The encounter had been far more satisfying than anything else in her experience. So after years of loneliness and searching, Jean had found everything she wanted in her own backyard. Literally. "Welcome home, Dorothy," she thought wryly.

Afterwards, they had gone swimming in the lake. It had been a rather silly thing to do, but enjoyable considering how hot the evening still was. They came back to the house together, dripping wet under their clothes.

Going back to her room, taking him into her bed, was something Jean had been glad to do. *He* needed it. It was an affirmation of what had transpired between them, an acceptance that this was not a one time fling. And it wasn't. Jean knew when she kissed him on the dock that this would only be a beginning.

Jean sighed and snuggled closer to him. This wasn't a period in their relationship or even a semi-colon. It was a comma.

Their lives would continue.

Together.

THE END

_That's it for this story. I'd like to thank my beta-readers, Jen and Amy , and everyone who wrote and left reviews. This was my first X-Men fanfic and the feedback from you all was great. Until my next story,   
Juliebmr_


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